Only If
by Emmithar
Summary: Death was not the worst thing that could happen as the team would soon find out. Can they band together to help save one of their own after a case goes horribly wrong?
1. Chapter 1

**Only If**

**By: **Emmithar

**Disclaimer: **Nope, still don't own them.

**Rating: **T

**Summary: **Death was not the worst thing that could happen as the team would soon find out. Can they band together to help save one of their own after a case goes horribly wrong?

**A/N: **Yeah, I started another one. Shouldn't have, but the plot bunny came knocking. More of crashing through the door than knocking actually. Rating may go up in later chapters, haven't decided yet how the story is going to end fully so there is a potential for a character death, additional warnings will go up later in the story if things do change.

* * *

**Chapter One: We've Been Waiting So Long**

He was alive; they had finally found him. But she realized this with a sinking notion. Sinking, because now that they knew he was alive, their worst fears were confirmed. They always had believed that he had been, alive that was. It had been a notion, a belief in the back of their minds. But what they couldn't explain was where, what they couldn't explain was how, and more importantly they couldn't explain why.

That alone was frustrating. The knowledge that they were all scientists, and that the most important case, the most important feature was the very one they could not solve. Time and time again they had come so close to finding him, to figuring it out, only to be led astray, and be left with nothing. Time and time again the wait would go on, the hope would fail, and when all of it was almost lost, a tiniest of hints would reappear.

Through this time, all this time, they had been working, piecing it together. Now they almost had it, but Sara would realize as time went on that things were only beginning. For now…now she didn't care. All she cared about was seeing him, to see with her own eyes what she knew in her heart to be true. Grissom had told her not to come, had told her not to get her hopes up. Things were bad, and they were going to only get worse as they went along. There was still so much to do…but right now, she didn't care…

* * *

_**August 28, 2007**_

_**2:45 pm**_

_Summer in Vegas; dry heat was a specialty of that. The sun was unforgiving, the air warm, the pavement radiating heat. It was only her second summer here, and already she was looking forwards to winter. New to the job, Amy Darrison had never planned on going on as a detective. Certainly never with the Vegas Department. Their prestigious reputation was daunting, and Amy had expected them to overlook her flimsy application. She had, after all, been kicked from one department to the next. When the job was offered to her, she had said yes without a second thought. Now she was beginning to regret that. _

_She didn't dislike the job…she just didn't care for the blasted heat. How much longer till winter came? With a breath she forced a smile, nodding towards the man making his way towards her. It was about time. Still, being so new, she didn't recognize everyone yet. She had only been out on field cases for a few months now. _

_He was dressed in a short-sleeved button-up shirt, a logo of some sort, probably a band she realized. But what got to her more was his hair, sticking up in odd places almost as though he had intended on it being like that. He pulled of his shades as he drew close, extending a hand. _

"_Greg Sanders."_

_Then she remembered. She had gotten the call earlier that morning when she first responded. Days was behind, so they were sending in someone else. No wonder she hadn't recognized him. "Amy Darrison."_

_It was the usual, he inquired about the scene, she walked him through. There was light talk between them, both trying to work through the uncomfortableness. He was nervous, but had every right to be. It was his first solo case; Amy could sympathize with him. She knew how it felt to be the new one. A year and a half here…and still she felt as though she was just getting used to everything. If only she knew her time in Vegas would end so soon, maybe she would have been more outgoing, more confident. Maybe then, she would still be alive…_

* * *

It was unnerving. There was no other way to explain it. He sat there, silent and unmoving, staring straight ahead into nothingness. He didn't even look up, didn't even move, didn't even breathe, it seemed like. Grissom said nothing in response, laying the files down on the table. There were a number of them now, all telling him the same thing. But it was the one thing he didn't believe, the one thing he couldn't believe. Somehow he knew it, in his mind and in his heart that Greg wasn't responsible for all these deaths.

But he couldn't disregard the evidence; he couldn't ignore everything that had happened. They didn't have all the pieces though, and that was something he needed to learn first, before he could understand the gravity of the situation. After all this time, if Greg truly was a victim, Grissom had assumed the man would be happy to see a familiar face. It would prove his innocence.

The other option of course was a look of regret, or one of shame. Something that would indicate his guilt. Grissom had learned to read people over the course of many years, and facial expressions always played a major factor. A killer could be anything from remorseful to smug and arrogant, blatantly sprouting off that the notion had been theirs all along. But Greg…there was nothing. And he really did mean nothing.

No expression, just a blank stare. The color was nearly gone from his face; the light from his eyes had disappeared entirely. It was as though he was a shell, a cloned copy of his former self on auto-pilot and the batteries had died. There was no movement, he was as silent and still as the corpses Grissom had seen many times over. But this was no corpse; this was a living, breathing human.

They weren't the only ones in the room. Brass was there as well; everyone else had been forced out. But they were watching; Grissom knew they were behind the mirror, and he was certain Greg knew it as well. That may have been the reason for his silence. So he waited, assuming then that the man needed a few moments to collect himself. Greg had done this enough times to know how it went. But that had been over a year ago now; maybe he had forgotten. Or maybe he just didn't want to remember.

Being of the science nature Grissom knew that the clues weren't only in the expression. It was about body language as well. That, Greg was giving off vividly. Every part of his body was tense, stiff and unmoving; due to fear, apprehension, worry or a mixture…he couldn't tell for sure. But that wasn't all…Grissom saw them now, as if noticing them for the first time, the deep bruises around his wrists, the same ones that matched his face. Fresh bruises covering the old ones that had faded with time, and then there were the scars…those could not be hidden easily.

"Did those happen during the arrest?"

Greg didn't respond, didn't move, but it was Brass that answered instead. The man's voice was soft and withdrawn, a sharp contrast to the normal tone he used during an interrogation. "No…he didn't resist or struggle, the cuffs weren't even on tight. They were removed shortly after we got him here. He's been like this since."

That had been nearly an hour ago. Greg hadn't said a single word, hadn't given any real reaction. The only real sign of life they had received from him was when they had given him the cup of water. It was protocol with all their suspects, and neither was it anything extravagant. Just plain city water, from the tap in the break room. But Greg had snatched the cup from the officer's hand in one quick motion, refusing to give it up even after all the liquid was gone. Grissom couldn't blame him; the man looked dehydrated. It had been an hour; with no major injuries they hadn't been able to take him to the hospital yet. That would happen soon enough, until then they would have to settle for this. And the sooner they talked, the sooner it would be.

"Greg?"

Grissom had cleared his throat, trying to form the words he wanted to say. It was a delicate case, and there were so many questions on his mind. They couldn't charge him with murder; there was no tangible proof, and for that Grissom was thankful. But an accessory to murder…tampering with crime scenes…not only was it possible, but the knowledge felt like someone had socked him in the gut. It was difficult to breathe.

There was no movement, no recognition from the other man at the sound of his voice. Greg stared ahead, lost in thought, lost in time, lost somewhere inside of himself so deeply that it seemed like he couldn't be reached. Grissom wasn't giving up though, not so easily.

"Greg…we can't help you unless you talk."

Still nothing. It was similar to talking to a corpse and waiting for a response. Part of him felt like he should have been. For a while the team had believed the man to be dead; but he wasn't, his existence here disproving that fact sharply. But one could be alive in body, but not in the mind. Where ever Greg had hidden himself, it had been deep, buried under a year of questions, a year of troubles, a year of complications.

"Sanders."

It was Brass that had spoken, and it had immediate effect. Greg had actually flinched, had turned away with a heavy breath, as though he had been a small child that was being reprimanded for stealing sweets from the cookie jar before dinner. But there was real fear there, and for Grissom, it almost went unmissed. Somewhere, somehow, Greg had become an expert at masking emotions, his face calming after the short breakthrough, as though nothing had even happened. He was shaking now though, trembling lightly.

Greg had changed completely…Grissom shook his head in sad wonderment. He was just a shell of what he used to be, empty and forgotten. What had happened to him and where had he been all this time?

* * *

_**August 28, 2007**_

_**7:23 pm**_

_He could still remember the call. After all it wasn't like you received news like this every day. Showing up early for shift had been something he had always done. The rest of the team arrived early by five or ten minutes unless working an active case, so he hadn't assumed anything was wrong. Then the call came in…_

_It had taken him several long moments to realize what Brass was talking about. Then memory had slammed into him. It had been Greg's case; his solo. Being out in the field for a couple of years now he was overdue for one. Grissom had been meaning to get him started, but time had a funny way of messing things up. Every case was too large, or too high in profile to hand out as a solo, even to an experienced CSI Level Three. _

_When the case had come in, leaving days short, it had seemed simple enough. Brass had given him the brief rundown, and Grissom had agreed. Greg wasn't particularly happy about receiving the early wake-up call, but he willingly took the case. _

_Brass hadn't heard much as of then, nothing other than the call that came out for an 'officer down'. Worry and fear had flooded him then, but died down as the man quickly informed him it wasn't Greg. That was the good news…the only good news that night. For Greg…things had been worse. He had completely disappeared. _

* * *

Normally it was his night off. Nick had gotten the call from Sara first; then from Grissom, then Catherine…by then he had stopped answering his phone. Shortly afterwards he silenced it. There was too much to think about, too much to do, he couldn't waste time talking to everyone in the lab to learn what he already knew. They didn't even have to ask him to come in. He was already there.

So many questions…they came tumbling out of his mouth like a leaky faucet that was threatening to burst. Where? When? Who? More importantly, why? But that's all they were, questions, there were no answers, nothing tangible, and he wasn't talking. Why wouldn't he talk? He was home, they had found him…he was safe.

Then Catherine had asked the question. Greg needed to be processed. Why? Another question. In his mind Greg had been a victim, this entire time. They were friends, had been close; there was no way Greg was responsible. There had to be an explanation. There always had to be an explanation.

Greg had been arrested. That news was shocking; he should have expected it, but it didn't stop him from verbally lashing out at her. Catherine had only been the messenger; she was upset about it as well. An arrest on Greg's record meant he could never work here again…ever. The department had destroyed the man's future without so much as a single thought. They had brought him home…but to what?

Nick agreed, had relented. He wanted to see Greg, had missed the man ever since his departure. Had hoped, had prayed. He could remember his own time, from when he had been taken, from when he had been buried. Nick still had nightmares, but since Greg's disappearance they had only gotten worse. The night terrors had gone from what was, to what could have been, to what could be happening. Yes…he had nightmares about Greg. He felt for him, connected with him on a deeper level.

Seeing him though had produced deeper emotions. A conflict battling inside of him. Part of him wanted to turn and leave, wanted to forget what he was seeing. Another part wanted to race inside, pull the man into a firm embrace and let him know that everything was going to be okay. The long sleepless nights after he emerged from his living coffin had left him longing for such contact, longing to hear the voice that would remind him everything would be alright.

But he could do neither. He couldn't turn away from Greg when the man needed him the most, and any physical contact would destroy possible evidence. Evidence that could help, or even hurt the man in the end. Suddenly Nick didn't feel so confident; what if the evidence was against him? What if the trace Nick found landed the man in jail, or worse, on death row?

Somehow he found the courage to go inside. He had been asked for a reason…it was always same gender when doing thorough searches, and for Grissom it was too strange. Nick wouldn't blame him, wouldn't blame Greg. The Texan particularly would not be comfortable with his own boss strip searching him and checking for trace. And by the way Greg looked it was possible the man might break completely even under the frailest of touches.

Greg's stare was fixated on the wall, and he didn't even glance his way, didn't even acknowledge his entrance. Inside his heart was beating fiercely as he got a closer look at the man he used to know so well. It was here that Nick felt slightly sick. Deep bruises lined the man's face and it was easy to tell which ones were old and which ones were new. The same pattern continued down his arms, and it seemed that even his hands bore the same cruel marks. It was only a guess that his clothing hid similar bruises. And his clothing…

There were times when Nick used to joke with the man, used to tease Greg about wearing the same clothes. Time and time again Greg would show up to the lab wearing the same wardrobe several times a week. Normally clothing wasn't something Nick paid any heed towards, but with Greg, his clothing was hard to miss. But this was no joke…Nick could swear here and now that the worn material was the same that had covered him over a year ago. Tattered and torn, nearly paper thin…and from here the smell…

Nick pushed it out of his head as the door shut behind him, Brass and Grissom having departed to leave him to do his work. The Texan swallowed, forcing himself to take the last few final steps to the table. The case in his hand seemed heavy, weighing him down, making each movement sluggish and slow.

There was still no movement from Greg, no eye contact, no words spoken. It was unlike anything Nick had ever witnessed…and there was a lot the man had seen in his years as a CSI. There was a job he had to do…but Nick couldn't take his eyes off of him, couldn't force himself to believe that this was really him…that it really was Greg.

Closing his eyes he gathered what strength he could find, pushing the battered image from his mind. Instead he replaced it with the vision he knew, the Greg he knew. The man who was always joking, the man who always held a positive outlook, even in the dimmest of situations. But when he opened his eyes that imagery disappeared, replaced instead with the verity of what was before him.

Another breath; the sooner he started the sooner this would be over. For what would help, for what would hurt, he would do a thorough job, and let the evidence speak for itself. It made logical sense; in Nick's mind, Greg was still a victim.

"I think you know how this goes."

His voice hadn't been as strong as he wanted it to be. Nick had wanted to give him the confidence to feel safe, to know and understand that they were here for him. There was so much more he wanted to say, so much he wanted to tell him, but he couldn't. His mind wouldn't form the words, and even if he could there was little chance to say them. This was a case…personal feelings had to be set aside. But that was so damn hard to do, and nowhere near fair.

But Greg didn't move. He was as he had always been, silent and still as a statue, not even a twitch of the finger, or the tapping of the foot. Greg was never this still…the man had to move, always had to move. Nick could remember clearly enough; often of times he would get on the younger CSI for the incessant movement. It was distracting, especially when trying to think. Greg had always argued differently. It helped him think, or so he had said. Therefore it was required. Soon it had morphed into a joke, a jibe they traded from time to time. It meant nothing now…

With a sigh he passed the camera from one hand to the other. "Greg…come on, man, work with me. I know this isn't easy; but it has to be done."

He had been trying to connect with the man, but there was nothing. He may as well be speaking to thin air. That was what it felt like. Uncomfortable now he began to worry, began to fret almost. If Greg didn't comply, then Nick would have to fetch an officer to see that he did. That was not what he wanted; he didn't even want to imagine what would happen if it came to that.

But he didn't have to worry. Without word, without another prompt, Greg slowly moved. His hands were shaking as his fingers worked at the buttons, or what was left of them. Some had fallen off, others were barely hanging on by thin threads. Nick let out a quiet sigh of relief, thankful that the man was at least complying…the other alternative would not have been pleasant. More so, Nick didn't think he'd ever forgive himself for having to make such a decision.

Greg had moved to his feet, Nick hovering near in case he should need the support but he didn't touch him. Only had the bag open and ready for the shirt to be deposited. The clothing would be processed later, for now it was just physical trace, fibers in the hair or on the body, dirt and grime under the fingernails. Anything they could use, plus everything that was irrelevant. How much trace would be there after fourteen months?

His thoughts disappeared entirely altogether in the next moment. Nick felt as though he was going to be physically ill, his stomach churning at the sight before him. Greg had managed to work the last button off, sliding the garment off his shoulders and over his arms. The earlier suspicions of the bruising and scars had been more than accurate. But that wasn't all.

It wasn't what was there that caught his eyes; rather what wasn't. And there was nothing. Literally nothing. Greg was skin and bones, his body featuring what one would normally see on those pledge commercials that adorned your television. Every rib, every vertebrae, every single bone stood out. Nick should have known, should have suspected. He could see it now, how his eyes were sunken in, how his face was so prominent. His body was starving, keeping Greg alive simply by eating itself. It would have consumed any stored fat…and that alone was not much. Greg had been lean…had always been lean….

Nick couldn't move, couldn't breathe, only able to watch as Greg took time to fold the tattered garment carefully. He treated the rag as though it was the only thing left of value, sliding it into the bag without so much as a glance Nick's way. His shoes, socks and pants were in fairly the same state. Jeans held up better, they were made from stronger material, but they too were worn, torn at the knees and even the shoes produced holes, worn through in several places as were the socks.

It was the same motion once more; Greg took his time to fold them with care, treating them as if they would break at the slightest mishap. For Nick it was appalling…he still couldn't move. He had never seen anyone this thin…and still alive. But Greg wasn't just thin…he was emaciated.

He simply stood there now, waiting, his body shivering in the air-conditioned room. It wasn't surprising, there was nothing there to keep him warm, and his body was reacting, doing what it knew how to do the best, trying to survive. Though he was alive for now, the true test of survival would come in the following days and weeks…but Nick knew that it would last longer than that. Physically it would take months…maybe even longer, but emotionally? Emotionally they hadn't even been able to connect to him.

And unless they were able to reach him…they were going to lose him.

**TBC**


	2. Where Do I Go From Here?

Thanks to _**SilverHowler**__**, **__**happyharper13**__**,**__** Jenny**__**,**__** Kegel**__**, **__**shalaboo**_and _**Baxxie**_for reviewing, glad to know you are enjoying it this far. Love reading your comments and they inspired a quick chapter as a result!

**A/N:** Timeline splits off after season five (just in case anyone was wondering) Just want to clear up further confusion that might come about later in the story.

* * *

**Chapter Two: **Where Do I Go From Here?

_**August 30, 2007**_

_**9:43 pm **_

_The case had gone from low profile to the center of the department in one night. Even now, days later, it was the only priority. Secondary cases had been set to the side, Swings scrambling to cover where they could. For the other two shifts, there was nothing else. Nights had taken priority over Greg's disappearance, Days taking over the original scene. But now they were the same scene…_

_Amy Darrison was dead, killed in a similar fashion to the original vic, a waitress by the name of Terry Halen. She used to be a dancer in her younger days, and already their search had spread outwards to the local clubs to see if anyone recognized her or remembered her face. Catherine could relate, having been in a similar career. Dancing was much more lucrative, but it carried along with it a high price if you mixed with the wrong bunch. The assumption had been her killer emerged from her past, but so far nothing had been found. That however wasn't as depressing as the standings with Greg._

_The call had come in during the day; Greg had used his own car to report to the scene. The body had been found in the middle of an abandoned parking lot by a staggering drunk who had been hoping for respite from his bleak life. Brass usually humored these types of characters, but he hadn't been in when the call first came. Detective Hendrickson had been, had interviewed the man, and sent him on his way even before sending Darrison out to the scene to wait for Greg. _

_Now with Darrison dead, and Greg missing for two days Hendrickson was scrambling to find the so-called homeless man. He had been earning foul reputation from everyone at the lab. No one had seen this man save for him, and his story was beginning to become more and more flimsy as the time wore on. If wasn't for the camera's in department that had seen Hendrickson bring him, the detective himself would be a main suspect. But for now he was off the hook, but so was the homeless man, the only thing connecting them to the current crime. He had disappeared, just as Greg had. The evidence attested to that. _

_Greg's car had been discovered at the scene; it had been towed in the lab and already processed by now. But it seemed as though the vehicle hadn't even been touched since Greg last left it. Even the music blared upon starting, set to the uncanny music he enjoyed so much. The same music Catherine was already beginning to miss. _

_Days had also found his kit open, flat on one side with its contents strewn about. His wallet had been found further up near the road, forgotten on the pavement. Those were the only signs of him…thus far, there was nothing else. Trace evidence collected at the scene bore no match to Greg. They were still waiting on pending results to find out who else had been involved. _

_Meanwhile the department had put out an ATL, an Attempt To Locate, in efforts to find Greg. There were various suggestions to what had happened to the man; for those who knew him, the obvious had come about. Greg had either been kidnapped, or had fled in attempts to save his own life. However there were other speculations; not everyone knew Greg all that well, and many were treating him as a suspect. He had fled, they all agreed, but rather from fear at his own doings; not someone else's. _

"_Bullets just came in," Nick announced, catching up with her. "Darrison's weapon was missing two rounds. Bobby confirmed that the GSW to her forehead wasn't caused by her own as we first suspected."_

"_So we're still missing evidence; those bullets have to be out there somewhere."_

"_Want more? The bullet that killed Halen came from the same gun that killed Darrison."_

_She paused here, thinking it over before it became apparent to her. "Suspect returned to the scene."_

_Nick nodded, "And Greg doesn't carry a gun. If I was him, in that situation, I would have run too."_

_She knew it as well. Agreed with him even. But her heart was heavy. If he had run, then surely he would have come forth by now. Something was stopping him from doing so. Catherine could only hope and pray that it wasn't what she thought it was. _

* * *

Silence; it was the eerie response that was now becoming so familiar. He was almost getting used to it. Grissom didn't want it to be this way, wished he could go back in time and change everything. But that was all they were, simple hopes, futile wishes. In his mind still burned the image of what he had seen when Nick had processed him. And for Grissom, as bystander behind the two-way mirror, it had only been a fraction of the shock that Nick must have felt.

Not just what he looked like; that alone was breathtaking in a gruesome way. What concerned him more was the man's reactions. Greg complied with every request without having been asked, just simply did, allowing Nick to take what samples he needed. Then he had dressed once finished, quiet and without emotion, seating himself back in the same chair without so much of a glance towards the other man.

Brass hadn't said anything, simply reentered room as Nick left. Grissom stayed only long enough to exchange a few quiet words with the Texan. He was shaken, naturally, and for that he felt remorseful. None of them had been prepared for what they had witnessed, and Grissom knew now that Nick hadn't been ready for such a trial.

The case could have been handed to days; but Grissom had refused that outright. For everything that Greg had been through, the man deserved to know that he was in the hands of those who actually cared for him. Yet now…now it seemed like it did not matter. Nothing had been answered that they had asked, no movement, no motion. He was almost catatonic; emotionless. Twice now they had left the room, leaving the man alone. Both to discuss their next moves to take, but more because they wanted to see if there was a reaction then. There wasn't.

"He needs to eat."

Nick's voice was still quiet and withdrawn; there was real concern, an edge of pain behind his words. Grissom agreed. It wasn't normal protocol to feed their suspects unless they were being held for extended periods of times. Here though…they would make an exception. "I have some broth in my office, we'll start with that."

"He needs food," Nick pressed, growing angry now.

"His body's grown used to not eating," Grissom explained quietly, understanding where the man was coming from. "Trying to do so now might kill him."

"Grissom…did you even see him?"

Yes…he had seen him. It still made him ill. Even covered now, in the standard orange jumpsuit the effects could still be seen, the image still implanted in his mind. But his answer would not change; they were dealing with a fragile manner, and the slightest mistake could lead ultimately to the man's demise. Grissom didn't need to say anything, the look on his face answered for the man, but Nick wasn't happy about it.

"Fine," he shook his head dejectedly. "Whatever."

Nick didn't stay any longer, simply left him standing there. It hadn't been an easy choice to make, but it had been a choice none the less. His attention turned back to the room; Brass was talking to the man, but Grissom couldn't hear what was being said. He caught glimpses of the words that passed his lips, but they were only fragments. Greg still didn't move, didn't have any indication that he was going to respond.

Grissom was still standing there when Sara first arrived. She had been clear out in Caliente investigating a suspicious case similar to one they had received months ago. It was a long drive, and had been an important case. But he knew she would want to know, so he had found the strength to call her. But he had also told her not come; her attention should be on her work. He knew that Sara wouldn't listen, so it wasn't a surprise to see her here now. But he did stop her as she tried to go into the room.

"I want to see him," she told him bitterly. Her eyes were red, swollen and puffy from the tears that had split down her cheeks. She had taken this whole ordeal rough as well. Everyone had; but Sara was more emotionally attached. She had been his supervisor, had been planning to take him out to celebrate his first completed solo. Instead she had been left with searching for clues to his disappearance, frustrated with the loose ends, the incomplete answers. But she had never given up hope…it was remarkable.

But that resolve was fading quickly, crashing down into itself as she saw him through the glass. Even from here he looked bad, and Grissom knew that his outward appearance was far more reassuring than what his clothing hid. Not only that, but how did you describe his mental state to someone who had yet to witness it?

"What happened to him?"

Grissom followed her gaze, studying the younger man for the briefest of moments. That alone was the gravest concern on everyone's mind. Another question they still had yet to answer. Sara was moving again, trying to get by him, but he wouldn't allow it. Sara was not in the right state of mind; she would only make matters worse. First she needed to calm down, needed to adjust to what was happening. And she wasn't happy.

The state Greg was in however was a scary one; Grissom felt the smallest of things could destroy him, sending the man spiraling out of control. They needed to break through his invisible barrier carefully, had to find a way to reach him without destroying him. Rash actions and flailing emotions wouldn't help in a case like this. He explained it to her as best as he could, the realization sinking into her eyes.

"What do you want me to do?"

So many times had he heard it before; the weak and broken words leaving someone else's mouth. Everyone was affected by this, but yet they would be. Grissom gathered his breath, trying to find a way to say the words he needed to speak.

"We need to contact his family."

She stared back at him, unmoving. "You mean me?"

Grissom nodded; Sara was compassionate enough to break the news gently. But already the woman was shaking her head.

"Sara…they need to know."

"And tell them what?" she demanded, her eyes shifting to the room where Greg still sat. "That we found their son, and we're trying him for accessory for murder, so come see him before we throw him in jail?"

"You know that's not how we're doing this."

"He needs a doctor, not an interrogation. Look at him."

"I see him," Grissom agreed, the same remorseful feelings returning. He had already tried to get the man to the hospital, but he was still waiting on the final word. Grissom himself had no control over that. Greg was a suspect, despite how they all felt. Even in his deteriorated condition it wasn't enough of a call for immediate medical help. That alone was frustrating, because they could do no more until the interrogation was complete. Even now, it still had yet to begin. But that was only one of the worries.

"What am I supposed to tell them then?"

Sara's voice was almost pleading now, her eyes searching out for an answer. That part was hard, because not even Grissom knew what to say, or how to phrase it. He had been the one to inform his parents the first time when he disappeared. He had been the one to speak with him when his potential involvement in similar cases appeared. He couldn't do it a third time, not here, not like this.

"They deserve to know."

Sara was nearly crying again, but she nodded, giving him the confidence he had been seeking. It wasn't going to be easy, but doing the right thing wasn't always so. He waited long enough to watch her depart, Grissom taking the moment to gather his composure before entering the room once more.

* * *

_**September 3, 2007**_

_**1:15 am**_

_He never felt this worn before. Having been back at work for only sixth months there were still issues he was dealing with. Even the months he had taken before hadn't been enough for him to fall into a sense of security. Each day he battled with his fears, the anxiety disorders that had come about in response with the events he had suffered through. Grissom said it was normal; he shouldn't worry, shouldn't fret, just work through it instead one day at a time. _

_It worked; for a while. But it was as if he was living through his strained nightmare once more. How could someone disappear so entirely without the slightest of traces? The only option, of course, was the very one he hadn't wanted to think about. Greg was smart enough to cover his own tracks. He could erase all the traces, could vanish without any trouble. But for what reason?_

_Even if he had been responsible for Darrison's death, surely it wasn't intentional. Proof now was starting to disregard that notion. The gun that did the fateful deed was around somewhere, they just had no knowledge as to where. Was it possible that the suspect had returned as they believed, and Greg had obtained the gun then?_

_No…Nick was shaking his head. Greg may have wrestled for the gun, but he would never kill. That left only one of several options. Greg had run; but if that was true, why hadn't they found him? The more grueling option of course was the fact that he could be dead. But even that had been frowned on. The lack of blood evidence and a body was only a starter. This left only a ransom…but they had received no calls, and so far no one had seen or heard anything more._

_Trace had come up with nothing; blood collected at the scene had matched Darrison and Halen. Scrapings from Halen's fingernails had come back to an unknown male. No one had any information on potential killers; Halen had been good clean girl for many, many years. Even those who used to work with her back when she was a dancer had held her in high regards. _

"_You should get some sleep."_

"_I can't."_

_There was no use in lying, Grissom would see straight through him. The man had been able to read him without complication. He had also played a major role in his recovery. Even if he wanted to hide his emotions, he couldn't. He had already divulged too much. _

"_You can't just stay awake."_

"_I'll sleep after we find Greg."_

"_What if we don't?"_

_The notion had always been in the back of his mind, but it wasn't one he wanted to think about. It had only been six days, not even a week yet. The probability of finding someone alive diminished greatly after the first twenty-four hours. But facts and figures could be wrong, and even then not everything followed along with the normality of it all. Just because it was what happened often, didn't mean that was what was going to happen. It played on his mind vividly, and he voiced his thoughts as if to prove it._

"_You found me."_

"_We had clues then; a lead to follow. Here we have nothing."_

_The sinking feeling hit then, a suspicion of knowledge lingering at the edges of his mind._ _Nick watched him then, trying to gauge the man's reaction, trying to piece together what the man meant, but refused to say. Then it all came crashing down, the reality of the situation sinking in, firming into solid denial._

"_No…"_

"_There's nothing Nick."_

"_You can't be closing the case. Not now…"_

_Grissom's face reflected his own, a mixture of depression and regrets, but the man didn't waver. "It's not my call; the case is inactive, we have to return to our other work. There are other crimes out there we can solve; it's our responsibility."_

"_So that's it then? We stop looking, and just forget about him?"_

"_The case, yes," Grissom answered with a nod. "Greg? Never. We'll always keep our eyes out for him. Something's bound to show up, sooner or later."_

_Sooner or later…that much was true. Cases could come back to life decades after being closed. But the one thing similar between all them was the one thing he didn't want to be true about this scenario. By then…it was always too late. _

* * *

The one thing he hated the most about this job was the connection to your peers. You couldn't work this job for as long as he had and hold no ties to those who worked with you. People came and went, and in his line of work death wasn't uncommon. It was easier to deal with when you didn't know the person, but that wasn't always the case. Sometimes things became personal…too personal. As they had now.

It was Catherine that had figured out the last clue; truthfully it had been more chance and luck than it had been skill. She had followed him out the scene, and even then Brass had been skeptical. But now, even after all this time, he couldn't get the image out of his head.

Having pulled up that deserted road in the midst of nowhere he had seen the lone figure bent over in the shallow hole. From there he hadn't believed it to be true, but the headlights from his car covered the area before him in bright white light, proving his disbeliefs wrong. There had been no reaction from the man; he just simply gave in, ceasing his efforts to finish the makeshift grave.

It was the seventh body in connection to him. And this time they had nothing to disprove the unwanted theories. He had been alone, with no signs of anyone else being there. That alone ruled out kidnapping or a potential hostage situation. And his silence now only continued to seal his grim fate.

Brass rubbed his forehead, trying to plan his next move. He and Grissom had spoken several times, had tried to bring about a course of action. Suspects could be hard to grill for information from time to time, but this was different. They knew Greg…or at least had known him. The man that sat at the table now was not the same person he once remembered.

Greg had been exuberant; maybe that was part of the reason Brass had never connected with the man before. Brass himself was a quieter individual, witty with the tongue, but he didn't openly talk in a friendly matter unless he knew the person well enough. His life had been hard, and there were many regrets; opening up was a hard thing to do. The old Greg reminded him of who he once was, of where he had been long ago, and it was a place Brass had always wished to forget. Perhaps that was part of the reason as well.

But that was then, and this was now. He was the only suspect they had, and unless he started talking he would be the only one. Yet Brass was getting weary of producing the same old drivel that fell on deaf ears. Nothing he had said had reached the man despite one signal word. Grissom had requested that he not speak Greg's last name again, having caught the nervous reaction before. Brass had promised to try, but it was the only thing that had stirred him thus far. He could not hold onto his promise forever.

He was saved, however, from having to start, something he was thankful for. The door opened then, Nick reappearing with a small container, and plastic spoon in hand. Greg didn't look his way as the bowl was set on the table, instead his eyes flicking down to the warm broth that had been placed before him. Brass pitied him, unable to imagine the agony of the state of near starvation the man was in. He expected the liquid to be consumed in mere moments as it had been with the water, but the opposite happened.

Greg turned away from the offered food, his face changing from a pale white to a vivid green at the mere sight. Nick was quick in removing it at the request of Grissom, but Brass wasn't sure it was quick enough. For several long seconds it seemed as though the man was going to be sick. If he did, then it would be astonishing; Brass doubted there was anything in there that could come up. But it passed shortly after, Greg taking a few deep breaths through his mouth, the unnatural color slowly fading from his cheeks.

"We'll try again later," Grissom told Nick with a quiet voice, trying to counsel the man. Nick had been adamant about getting him to eat, and in his state it was obvious to anyone that the man should consume anything without question. To Brass it was heartbreaking. No matter how much he saw, there was always something new that came up to prove he hadn't seen it all.

"Catherine thinks there may be more…evidence…at the scene."

Nick had refrained from saying bodies; Brass didn't blame him. No one wanted to believe that this was even happening. But as always they couldn't ignore it.

"I'm going to head out with her, see what we can find."

"No, you can't!"

The outburst had been sudden, startling all of them in the room. Greg had reacted immediately, for the first time making eye contact with anyone. Yet as soon as it had happened, it was over, Greg turning away, his breaths heavy as his body began to tremble lightly. Brass himself was speechless, much like Nick had been, but it was Grissom who was able to form the words that was lingering on all of their minds.

"Greg? Why can't he?"

No response; instead the man gripped his hands together in a rigid grasp, his fingernails digging into his skin. He was still shaking, still breathing in heavy gasps as though the outburst had stolen all the air from his lungs. It was frightening at best, horrifying at its worst.

"He may be trying to hide evidence," Brass suggested with a heavy heart. It wasn't what he wanted to believe, but the truth that Greg had changed was obvious as night and day. They couldn't disregard that.

But Greg was shaking his head, his eyes downcast, a silent whisper of 'no' escaping his lips. His voice was so shallow, so broken that it was pitiful to listen to.

"Greg," it was Nick this time that was talking, crouching low so that he was at eye level with the man. "Come on man, talk to me."

Yet it was same guise as he had always held, unresponsive other than the silent movements of his frail body. Several more times Nick attempted to coax him, tried to reach him. But nothing wore its way through the wall that had been restored, and Greg sat in continued silence, lost once again somewhere inside of himself. Even if Nick was ready to give up, it was clear Grissom wasn't.

The man leaned forward, Brass watching in interest as the scientist held his voice steady but comforting, speaking as though he would to a child.

"We need to know why Greg…if you can't tell us why, then we have to go. How else will we find out?"

Maybe it was the tone of his voice, or maybe it was the reasoning in his statement. Whatever it was, something inside him had fallen, the last stronghold of the man's defense wearing thin as a silent tear traced its way down his dirtied cheek. His voice was just a whisper, but every word could be heard clearly.

"He'll get you…he'll get you just like he got me."

**TBC**


	3. Contact

**Thanks goes** **to my beta for helping with this. Sorry for the long update, been busy with RL. Hope to update soon, let me know what you think!**

* * *

**Chapter Three: Contact**

"Are you okay?"

Nick hadn't even looked up when he came in. Warrick had been at the airport earlier, heading out for a conference in Houston. Having worked his way through security he had checked the messages on his phone before shutting it down for good. As busy as he was, he hadn't expected eleven voicemails.

He almost hadn't listened to them, figuring that Nick was pulling a prank; the man knew his phone would be off, and it was like him to try such a stunt. Then he decided listening to one wouldn't hurt. It would be a week before he saw any of them again. But then one message turned into two, and then three. By the fourth message he had turned back around, and headed out the door.

It was an array of emotions that had flooded through his system on the ride back there. Warrick had never been exceptionally close to the man, but he had never wished him any harm. When he had heard of Greg's disappearance he had been sickened. Images of Nick's kidnapping, of Holly Gribbs' murder had raced through his mind. He had suspected the same ill fate for the young man. But then the faintest of traces had begun to appear, and Warrick had assumed it was a game of cat and mouse. But he had never suspected they'd actually find him…

Greg was still in interrogation when he arrived, dressed in the usual orange jumper provided by the department. Warrick hadn't stayed long; quiet words whispered by Catherine had seen him to the break room, where Nick was sitting quietly. He had never seen such an expression before; a deep mixture of remorse, maybe revulsion, perhaps a smidgen of fear amalgamating into one solid feature. Slowly the man shook his head, his voice taunt and withdrawn.

"No, I'm not."

Warrick hadn't seen him in such a state since the incident. It had taken Nick time to recover from his ordeal; not just physically. For a time though, he had seemed to be doing so well…then Greg had gone missing. Nick had taken it harder than anyone else. They were all worried; that alone didn't lessen the severity of the situation. But Nick had taken it personal…Nick had spent what he believed to be his last final hours trapped deep underground, hoping and praying without any real hope. They had almost lost him…

And then Greg…that's why it meant so much to the man…

"Did you see him?"

Nick's voice was still troubled, the man obviously shaken by the entire ordeal. His gaze met his own and Warrick could see the true worry and fear outlining his eyes. Seen him, yes…he had seen him. It had been a fleeting glance from behind the mirror, and Greg had seemed so far away, so small…so fragile. Before he could speak, before he could respond, Nick was talking once more.

"He was waiting for us, hoping that we'd find him…"

"We did find him," Warrick reminded him, nodding now. Greg was here; whatever had stopped him from being found before, whoever had kept him from coming back to them…it was over. The repercussions were just beginning, yes, but as long as they had Greg, Warrick knew that everyone here would do what they could to keep him safe, to help him through.

But Nick was shaking his head; there was something in his eyes, a disbelief; as though he was a child who refused to believe a harmless lie. He was quiet, his eyes half-lidded as he seemed to remember something he should have forgotten.

"When I was…when it happened to me, I was terrified. I didn't expect to be found…but when you did find me, I knew everything was going to be alright. I was still scared…but not like this, not like he is."

Warrick knew; understood. Nick never spoke openly about his fears, but there hadn't been a need. It was expected, desired even one could say. By letting it release through perception the man had been able to communicate his fears and needs without speaking. Everyone here had supported him, given him the strength he had never asked for but needed. Greg had him as well…now the opposite would be expected, but things were not always the same. This was something he already knew; he just didn't want to believe it.

"Greg's been gone a little longer," Warrick reminded him, moving to sit opposite from him.

He nodded in agreement, but didn't seem to really believe it. "It's not even him, Rick…he won't talk, he won't eat…and it's like he's forgotten who he even is."

"Then we'll help him remember."

This was a fight Warrick wasn't so easily going to give up. He was man of determination, could follow almost anything through if he set his resolve on it. That was the way it was going to be here. Greg hadn't given up on anyone in his time here at the department. So he wasn't going to give up on him now, not when the man needed the help most of all. He was going to remind the Texan of that, to encourage him, but they weren't alone any longer.

"Nick?"

It was Catherine who had walked in, the woman clearly in no better shape than everyone else here. She met Warrick's gaze first, but her attention focused on Nick shortly after. The man wouldn't turn to her, but she continued, undisturbed.

"We need to go out to the scene."

"Did you not hear what Greg said?"

Warrick was lost in the exchange, but he didn't intervene. The two needed to talk, needed to sort things out, and he was in no position to add input. He barely even knew what was going on. Nick did though, had taken to standing, facing her now.

"That doesn't excuse us from our jobs," Catherine claimed. "Brass is right; he could be trying to hide evidence."

"What if he is telling the truth?"

"We don't know that."

"What if he is?" Nick pressed. "Do you really want to end up like that, like him?"

Catherine was quiet, her gaze slowly drifting back to Warrick. He turned away, had to. There were only guesses so far to what had happened to Greg, none of them being pleasant, and the last thing he wanted to happen was have someone else hurt. But he knew she was right, knew they had to go. But did it have to be them; did it have to be now?

"Brass already sent a unit ahead to scope the scene. Extra units will be there to make sure nothing happens."

Nick wasn't moving, having no real desire to go. Warrick could see, could understand. There wasn't just fear there for his own safety, but apprehension for something more, something much deeper. It wasn't hard to understand; Nick had once been right where Greg was, on the other side of the law.

It hadn't been his fault. Nick had truly cared for Kristy Hopkins, had been devastated by her death. At every turn the CSI's had risked finding evidence that could both frame him for her murder, or set him free. The only difference between then and now was the simple fact of time.

Nick had come forward right after it had happened, had been open and willing to talk, eager to clear his name of all charges. Greg was the opposite, having disappeared, not only after the first crime, but each and every one that followed. There were enough traces to suggest something, and yet nothing at all.

They could still help him, but the truth was that the more they found, the possibility of it hurting him was becoming more apparent. Now Greg wasn't even talking, wasn't cooperating. It was almost as though he was just waiting to take on the consequences of everything that had happened, whether or not he truly was at fault.

Warrick was the first to move in the room, placing a hand on Nick's back, nodding to him. Things would work out, they would be fine. They had to be; there wasn't any other explanation in his mind. This was not Greg's doing, and Nick needed to help prove that factor.

The explanation seemed to work, the Texan nodding as he turned to Catherine, the woman passing along a quiet thanks. Warrick said nothing in return, staying there only until after they had departed. Coming here, seeing everything that was happening had been hard enough. But now the true work began. With quiet determination he left the room, moving now to see what he could do to help.

* * *

_**September 24, 2007**_

_**10:35 am**_

_They were nice people; that was what made it so hard. Of course it was never easy to tell someone their loved one was missing, and even with practice it only became tolerable. Yet this time it had been different. Greg may have been their son, but the man had also been a part of the department's family. _

_After the first twenty-four hours Grissom had made that dreaded call. It had been a difficult task though; Greg had listed both Sara as well as Nick for his emergency contacts. Normally they preferred those outside of work, but Grissom knew how demanding the job was, knew that at least half the lab had arrangements within the department itself._

_But what was surprising was the fact the forms had been changed. Confusion had set inside of him, then it cleared as he remembered why. After the explosion in the lab, Grissom had followed procedure and contacted his parents. They had flown in clear from New York, and though Greg had appreciated their efforts, he felt guilty for being the cause of their sudden upheaval. _

_It seemed fine at the time; but now it was of little use. The department already knew that Greg was missing; Grissom had taken his time to search through old records, and with his efforts, and the slightest bit of luck, he had found the old numbers for his parents. He kept the form as it was, simply jotting the new number down in pen along the side of the card. He hoped…no, he had prayed, that Greg would be able to refill the forms on his own in the coming time. _

_When his parents were out here after the explosion, Grissom had met them only briefly. They had a number of cases they were scrambling to cover and restore after the mass majority of evidence was damaged and along with the chaos was the fact he had been in the peak of his hearing loss._

_Grissom hadn't wanted to seem rude, but it was difficult to find both the time and the patience to listen to them for long, and try to muster what they had said._ _More importantly, their focus was on caring for their son, not in trying to impress him. So he had kept his distance, not wanting to be a distraction. But he had heard about them through the others; Sara had enjoyed their company, as had Nick. Catherine, having taking the blame for the accident, had gotten to know them the best, assisting in Greg's recovery. He had considered letting her make the call, but by all standards he was Greg's supervisor. So he had done it._

_He had tried to keep their fears at bay; twenty-fours could mean nothing and yet everything at the same time. What he said didn't work; they still flew back out to Vegas. Talking with them then had been difficult. Neither Lena nor Aaron Sanders had heard about Greg's promotion from DNA to the field. That alone was surprising. It had been a fairly big deal to Greg, had been widespread throughout the department. Everyone had encouraged him in one way or another and it was clear the man was proud of his achievement. So why had he hid the enlightening news from his parents?_

_But the more he had spoken to them then the more he realized why. Lena was near hysterical, calmed only by her husband who held high hopes for his son. Greg had never spoken about them much, even kept to himself after they had departed Vegas the first time. The man didn't take to being coddled well, and it was clear that his mother's intentions were as such. It wasn't a crime to love your son, Grissom knew; but he also knew Greg longed for his own space, wanted to move by his own terms. That was the entire reason for his move from the lab to the field. It was a tough call, but an understandable situation. Grissom was just disheartened that Greg's parents had to learn of his achievement in such a manner._

_Despite what he said though, his parents had stayed in Vegas for the following week. After seven days of worrying, and waiting; hanging on every word that was passed around in the news and within the department, Grissom had finally convinced them to return home. He promised them a call as soon as they heard something, anything at all. Greg's father knew it was time; but for Lena, she had taken longer to convince. Grissom couldn't blame her; there was no stronger bond than that between a mother and child. And though Greg was a fully grown man, he was still her child._

_And it made it worse, the knowledge that the next call he would make would more in likely be the last. After a week, there was minute hope of finding someone alive. After three…they had simply stopped trying. The department had long ago stopped searching, and though the others on the night shift had pooled together a sum of money to instigate their own search, it could only go on for so long before it became an unhealthy obsession. _

_With resources dry, money thin, and hopes failing, they all knew it was time, and so had agreed that everything was at an end. If his parents wanted to continue the search, they would have to do so on their own. There was a mixture of tears and broken hearts, but understanding in the end when he hung up the phone for what he thought was going to be the last time. Yet the next call he would have to make, was one he thought he never would. _

* * *

It was quiet in here. That was part of the reason why she had chosen it. Sara hadn't any idea how the next several moments would play out, and she preferred to be alone. She wanted to keep the perception that she was still strong, even though it had failed miserably over the past year. Everyone around her had helped, even without knowing they had, but Sara knew she could not keep relying on that factor, especially in a time like this. Greg's sudden reappearance had shocked them all, and though she had yet to see all the details firsthand, she had learnt them through secondary sources.

Now she was the one expected to tell his parents. The only question of course was 'how?'. She knew his parents; Aaron was a quieter individual, holding a calmer front than his wife. He was clearly the opposite of Greg, but had spoken fondly about his son on several occasions. Lena was outgoing, stubborn, and at times demanding. But she was kind, and heartbroken as a mother to learn about her son's fate. What would she say now, knowing her son was still alive, but far from being okay?

Inside her stomach turned, and Sara brushed away the silent tears, wishing there was another way to do this. An email, a letter, or a text message perhaps; just so she didn't have to hear their voices, and risk breaking down herself. But that was improper, not only in a business sense but on a personal level as well. There was no other way around it.

Her fingers brushed over the file, pulling the contact card free. The numbers stared back at her, their familiarity all too well known. They weren't the right numbers; Sara knew her own well enough and even though Nick's was on speed-dial she could still recite it by heart. The writing on the side caught her attention then, and she turned the card so that she could read it easier.

She recognized the handwriting; no one wrote like that save for Grissom, and part of her believed that no one _could_ write like that even if they tried. But it was a mild thought, and she pushed it to the side, turning the office phone so that she could dial the number.

The dial tone was followed by a variety of beeps sounding in her ear, followed by the steady ring. Inside her chest her heart was pounding against her ribs, threatening to break out completely, the sound echoing throughout her mind. She didn't want them to be there, didn't want to have to tell them. Her hopes were dashed in the next moment as the call completed, the known voice on the other end.

At first she didn't respond; Sara's mouth was too dry, her throat too tight to make any sound. Lena's voice was questioning on the other end, and somehow Sara was able to get the first few words to break free. "Mrs. Sanders…this is Sara Sidle from the Las Vegas Crime Lab."

Recognition in the other's voice; Lena Sanders would remember her well enough. That was the problem. Sara could already feel herself breaking apart on the inside. Greg's mother of course hadn't the slightest notion of what was going on. Grissom had kept a tight reign on this case, on Greg's arrest, keeping it out of the media. _They deserve to know._

Of course they did; that was why she was here, that was why she was doing this. Carefully, yet firmly, she cleared her throat, trying to rid her voice of emotion. She had to be strong, had to give them confidence.

"Lena, I'm calling about Greg, your son."

It was ironic; of course it was about their son. How many other Gregs did they know? What other reasons would Sara have for calling them from the department's number? She had, from time to time given them a call, mostly around the holidays to see how they were coping. Or maybe it was for her own benefit, maybe she had always been seeking something in return, some sort of solace, just to know that she wasn't suffering alone through this whole ordeal.

"You found more?"

Lena's voice was soft, disappointed…saddened. Who wouldn't be? Grissom had been the first to tell them of the links they had discovered, of how it was believed that Greg may have been responsible…

"Yes," Sara answered simply, banishing the latest thoughts from her mind. She had to concentrate, had to focus. "But we also found him."

Quick, painless…like ripping a Band-Aid off. It was the easiest way, but it didn't make it easy nonetheless. There was silence on the other end, and for the briefest of moments Sara thought she had lost her. But Lena's voice returned, empty and heartbroken.

"Should we…have you thought about…the services…"

Her voice was hard to catch, but it dawned on Sara then to what she was referring to. How could she have not seen it before?

"He's alive."

Sara had blurted it out, hoping to calm her fears, and it had worked. Lena's voice had changed from desolate to spirited within a few seconds, laughing and crying all at once. Aaron's voice, Greg's father, could be heard, his inquires rising in the background. There was a mixture of questions, of answers, expressions of gratitude, leaving Sara fumbling to try and insert a word, trying to explain, but they were already carried away. Shortly after another round of thanks, the line went dead, leaving Sara to cry out in frustration as she hung up the phone.

Her head fell into her hands then, a silent curse escaping her lips as she berated herself. How could she have screwed things up this much? Greg's parents were coming out to see him, expecting him to be the same as they last saw him, with no idea of the real trouble he was in. What was she going to do now? She had to do something, that much was obvious. But if they hadn't listened the first time, why would they do so now?

**TBC**


	4. Discoveries

**A/N:**Due to a discrepancy about Greg's grandparents and their names, I will be referring to them as Olaf and Nana Hojem. :)

Thanks goes to Kegel for the beta, and to all those who have reviewed. Let me know what you think so far.

* * *

**Chapter Four: Discoveries **

There were times when she enjoyed being right; then there were times she hated it…no loathed it, as she did now. They had all been eager to find Greg; all had been searching for answers. They had wanted them as much as they had wanted to disregard them, but you couldn't always have the best of both worlds. Now she was left facing a decision she wanted to make even less. But it still was her decision to make.

The haunting eerie voice from Greg, and the comment Nick had made still floated in her mind. Greg had seemed adamant about not wanting them to go; Brass had pointed the truth out about the possibility that the man may not be the same person they had once known. One look at the frail and withdrawn man supported that theory greatly, though through other means. Greg was not the same person because of what he had gone through, not because he so chose to be.

But _what_ had he gone through? The question still lingered on her lips, but she didn't speak it, mostly due to the fact that no one around her knew the answer. That was the answer they had to figure out, the case they had to solve. The thought alone made her stomach turn. She risked a glance at her passenger, the man quiet as she was, staring out the window, but lost completely in thought.

Nick hadn't wanted to come, had fully trusted Greg's warning. Catherine would admit that she too had heeded his words, but had relied more on her instinct as a CSI than a superstitious maniac. What they were doing now could have been completed earlier. But Catherine was like all the others, had wanted to see and hear what was going on rather than being forced to stay and work a scene. So she had left, had returned with them, despite their reasonings.

There were a thousand excuses she could have used to put them at ease. But she didn't utter a single one of them, hadn't even tried, hadn't even cared. Now that the rush was over, now that her adrenaline had died down, she was ready to try again, ready to return and finish what she should already be doing, but had failed to start. By the time they reached the scene, units were already there, lighting the area with the headlights from their cars, a group scoping the grounds, guns drawn, flashlights sweeping the darkened area.

They were crazy, what were they doing? Catherine was out of the car before she could stop herself, her temper like a rabid-dog, out of control and unhindered. She knew they were only trying to help, knew they were only following orders but there was evidence out there, potential evidence that could be destroyed by their so-called helpfulness.

It was Nick that held her back, keeping her at bay despite her emotions. For her own good, or for Greg's sake she would never know. At that point she didn't care; the more she tried to pull away, the tighter he held her, and the angrier she became. But he didn't let her go, the words coming from his mouth reached her ears but never processed in her mind. Her only thoughts were on the scene, on the evidence; if they contaminated it, destroyed it, even so much as manhandled a fiber, stepped on a fragment…it couldn't be used in court. Whatever was out there could hurt Greg, she knew, but she also knew it could potentially save him.

This was what she had expressed to Nick, but the man countered her easily, reminding her of the words Greg had spoken. Almost immediately she relaxed, allowing him to hold her, trying to regain her composure. This was not the kind of person she normally was. Her outburst had attracted quite a bit of attention, their gazes drifting from where they slowly moved in the open field to where she stood, seemingly forgetting their task at hand even if was for only a moment.

She was never aware when Nick had actually let her go, could only remember wrapping her arms around her torso as she waited in the bitter cold, uncertain if it was due to the drop in temperature from the city to here, or if it was her own worries and fears causing the shiver that raced through her spine. Brass' units were thorough, and though that bothered her it was also a comfort. If anyone was out there, if anything had been done…surely they would find it. They had to…

It was nearly an hour before they made the call, an hour that could have been spent combing the scene for trace, for evidence…for bodies. David had already collected the one she and Brass had come across, the same one Greg had been trying to bury. Another young woman, another untold story, another forgotten past. It wouldn't take much effort to guess the lone girl had once been in some sort of show business. So far every victim had been, the only traceable connection between them all. But what did Greg have to do with them, and who else was behind it all?

Yet more questions, questions that were desperately seeking answers. Answers that she was determined to find, no matter the cost. The last lingering thoughts on her mind were grim as she reached for her case, following Nick under the crime scene tape, and preparing herself for the long night ahead.

* * *

_**October 2, 2007**_

_**3:45 pm**_

_The service had been beautiful. As beautiful as it had been heart wrenching; this was not how anyone had wanted things to end. But they couldn't keep going on, couldn't pretend that things were going to be okay…couldn't pretend he was still alive out there somewhere despite what they truly wanted. Five weeks had passed since his disappearance, and it was becoming clearer with each day that he wasn't going to return._

_His parents…bless his parents; they still believed he was alive, still held hopes. They had poured their money into obtaining a private investigator, one last hope to find their son, wherever he might be. But it was dismal hope, Sara knew. The Las Vegas Crime Lab had gone above and beyond in their attempts to find him, coming up with no leads. If they could find nothing, not even the slightest of hints, then what was there to find at all?_

_Part of Sara was thankful; it was a complex emotion to explain, but she felt that no news was potentially good news. Their only hope now was to find him…deceased somewhere…but until then she knew she could hope and pretend that it wasn't true. She didn't care how much of a fool she sounded like when she still referred to him as being alive. No one had tried to correct her when she did, hadn't bothered, that or they hadn't noticed. Some of the others still did as well; very few had actually referred to him as departed._

_That made the memorial all harder to attend. Greg's parents hadn't come, their time invested in other matters. Sara knew it was hard for them; they more than anyone hadn't wanted this to be true. She knew how it felt, because the same emotion resided in her heart. She had gone, gone only because she knew she may not get another chance to say a proper goodbye. Denial was still a vivid trait in her system; she knew it, just had yet to admit to it. _

_And it was here she had first met his grandparents. Olaf and Nana Hojem, the two Greg had often spoken about from varying times throughout the years. He cared for them, and it wasn't hard to tell why. Even for Sara, who had never held family as a high priority. Her own life had been dark and dismal, secrets buried under forgotten years. She had never tasted the sweetness of it, had never felt as much warmth and care as she had from Greg's family. Part of her wished she had a place in it, the feelings confusing her as the events toyed with her emotions._

_For some time she sat, talking with them, missing bits and parts due to their accents. Sara could recall Grissom mentioning something about them being from Norway, but she couldn't be sure, never having heard the language itself it was hard to place if that was where their accent actually came from. Even so, they were easy enough to understand overall. But they couldn't stay here and talk forever. _

_She had stayed near them throughout the ceremony, had managed to hold back tears each and every time someone went to the front to speak. There were memories, a lot of memories, from everyone all over the department. Sara had forgotten that Greg knew several of the people who worked the day shift. He used to work on their cases, having been stuck in DNA. It was only with his recent promotion to the field that he had drifted from them, but even so the prior memories were hard to be forgotten._

_As were her own. When it was time for her turn to speak she had followed the same path that the others had taken, the notes and fond memories jotted down on a paper to help her get by should she find herself lost for words. But being up there, surrounded by the man's pictures, of his success, of his warmth and happiness, had done her in. Here they were sharing his life when he was out there somewhere, in what condition they would never know. _

_How long she had been up there she couldn't say, the only memory able to serve her was the one of her racing out the doors, her departure not coming soon enough. Tears were already spilling down her cheeks before she even made her way outside into the warm afternoon air, but she didn't stop, didn't want to be found, not like this. Yet the stronger she wished she could be, the weaker she became. And the more guilt she had felt build up inside of her. _

_It had been the one chance for her, a way to say goodbye, and she hadn't been strong enough. Part of her knew it was because she wasn't ready; it was the same thing her therapist had told her. It was Grissom who had suggested the help first, then required it of her, despite her protests. She had seen enough shrinks throughout the year to last a lifetime, but she had relented, relented only because he refused to let her continue to work cases unless she did. And she desperately did. _

_But part of her mind told her something else, reminding her of something a friend had once told her. If you weren't ready to say goodbye, then maybe it wasn't yet time. Maybe, just maybe she couldn't finish her thoughts, or utter her last spoken words about the man because it wasn't his time. The alternate, of course, left little to be desired. If someone had taken him, if someone still had him, what where they doing to him? What use could Greg be to someone who did not desire a ransom?_

_Theories shot through her mind, memories of gruesome cases, of dark and unwanted knowledge seeping into her mind. She didn't want to believe that was the case, didn't want to think that he had been reduced to some sort of slave, or traded overseas as so many horror stories proclaimed. If that was the case…then they would never find him. _

_But it couldn't be the case…she simply refused to believe it._

* * *

It hadn't taken long for him to find work. There was more than plenty to keep him busy throughout the next several nights. Even so, he stuck with the priority, following Grissom's lead. Nick had collected trace from Greg already, and it was being processed at this very moment. It took some time, took some thought, but Warrick had managed well enough after moving through several of the old cases.

It had been a hunch, nothing more, that he had taken the samples taken under Greg's fingernails and compared them with another. The match was almost immediate. Part of him was surprised, another part enlightened. It told them nothing, and yet potentially everything. Waiting no longer he printed the results off, collecting them and moving to find Grissom.

Greg had already been moved from interrogation into one of the holding cells. It was protocol, he knew, but it didn't make it any easier to bear. Whatever Greg had gone through had been similar to Hell, and now once back into the hands of his friends he was directed straight into a cell. Whatever self-esteem the man had left was surely destroyed by now. Warrick knew everyone was doing everything they could, and it hadn't taken him long to find Grissom combing over the photos in the layout room.

Even they were hard to witness…it was only then that Warrick realized the extent of what Nick must have gone through while processing the man. Some of the scars were distinct, others varied, each and everyone telling a gruesome story that was surely more horrifying than the last. So entranced by his thoughts, he had missed Grissom talking to him at first, but by the second time he had caught the question, swallowing as he nodded.

"I compared the samples under Greg's fingernails with the unknown male suspect taken off of Darrison…perfect match."

"An unknown sample doesn't tell us anything."

He knew that, had expected it as an answer, and therefore had already compiled a response. "Unknown male's DNA found on our first vic, and then nothing until Greg shows up. I think this is the guy that killed Amy, and took Greg hostage."

"For all we know Greg could have left under his own will after killing Amy accidentally. This 'suspect' could have witnessed the crime and Greg could have taken him hostage to prevent him from going to the police. Greg could have kept him alive and recently entered a brawl with him, explaining the DNA under his fingernails."

"You don't believe that."

Grissom shook his head, his voice quiet. "No…but it's what a judge is going to come up with. We need to be foolproof, not hopeful."

Warrick was growing angry now, partially because he knew the truth of what the other man spoke, but it didn't make it fair. This was not the same Greg they were talking about, and surely any judge would be able to see that. "If Greg _had _left under his own will, why is he in the shape he is now? No one intentionally lets themselves starve to death or routinely beats themselves."

"A severe conscience of guilt, for a wrong doing, such as killing someone, even if it was an accident," Grissom offered. "And if he felt the need to punish himself, then yes, it is possible."

"Look, I've been in my fair share of trouble over the years, but never have considered such a thing. And we all know Greg's made a mistake here and there, but he's never indicated any self-harm or injury. Why would he start, and why so extreme over something that was accidental? Considering of course he did kill Darrison, which we have no proof of."

The man seemed to follow his line of reasoning, nodding to his questions, but seemed to have an answer in mind. "I had a tox screen ran when we first brought him in. Henry brought in the results a little while ago. Greg's levels are off the chart; diacetylmorphine."

"Heroin?"

"You only see these kinds of levels in chronic users."

"Greg's not an addict," Warrick shook his head. He had had his own brushes with drugs, knew how addictive they could be, but that was one issue the younger CSI would have never become involved in; not willingly at least.

"If Greg was suffering from depression induced by guilt it is possible he turned to drugs. Heroin is cheap and easy to obtain."

"I thought you were trying to help him."

"I am," Grissom said with a nod, "I'm trying to think of every possible solution a judge would come up with, and find a way to disregard it."

Irritating as it was, it was true. That was how a judge was going to see things when the case was presented. So how could they disprove it? The question played on his mind, badgered his thoughts, then suddenly it came to him.

"Heroin can also be used as a depressant."

A nod. Warrick drew in a breath, sorting things out in his mind. "He could have been forced on the heroin in order to keep him subdued to the captor's content. The captor would have to gradually up the dosage in order for it to have an effect, just like those who use the drug recreationally. They have to consume more in order to get a high."

"That would explain the high levels in his system, and Greg's ability to tolerate it with such ease."

"Grissom…levels that high would indicate a dependency…"

The man was nodding. "He's already exhibiting symptoms of withdrawals. They'll only get worse as time goes on."

"What can we do?"

"He can't go anywhere until after the prelim, I've pulled a few strings. He's going in first thing in the morning."

"With a public defender?" Warrick shook his head, already knowing how it would turn out. "Grissom…Greg's going to be crushed out there."

"He has a lawyer," the other man interjected. It was a surprise, mostly because Warrick hadn't heard of any changes. Greg had never asked for a lawyer, had never requested one. But all his questions were answered as the man continued.

"Sara was able to get a hold of Greg's parents, explain the situation. They've already made arrangements."

"Who?"

"Denise Feldman."

That was even more surprising, but in an encouraging sense. "She's good."

"One of the best," Grissom nodded with a sigh. "Let's hope she's working in our favor."

It was an encouraging thought, at least for that moment in time. Feldman had an outstanding record, with very few cases lost. She was pricy though, and it only spoke volumes of exactly who Greg's parents were. All they wanted was to see their boy safe. It as a kind of love Warrick had only received from his grandmother.

"What do you see?"

He had to force himself to look. As strong as he was working this job, there were still cases he couldn't handle. Cases with kids, cases with battered women…cases that were personal, like this. It made him ill inside, and a fury burned that he could not quench as he glanced down at the photo, the bruises intermingling with scars in an odd shaped pattern. But there was something about it, something he couldn't pinpoint, although knowing it was there.

"I know what that is," Warrick said after a moment, his finger tracing the imprinted line he was staring at. Near him Grissom nodded.

"I wasn't sure what I was seeing at first; the bruising there is dark, but you can see the pattern here."

"Zip ties," Warrick nodded. "He was restrained."

Images of Nick entered his mind. That was where he had seen it before. With Nick, the man only bore faded bruises of the abrasive plastic that had dug in his skin when he had tried to break free of his confinement. Yet for Greg it was different; not just bruises or faint outlines from indentations, but actual scars. He had been restrained more than once, and in a forceful manner. How many times had the thin plastic cut into his wrists? How many times had the man struggled vainly in attempts to reach his freedom before he eventually submitted?

It was amazing that all he had been left with were scars. They were cruel devices when used in such a manner, rendering the victim helpless, and inflicting pain if drawn too tightly, an easy feat if a struggle ensued during application. His own hands hurt, wrists aching slightly at the thought and Warrick drew back, trying to shake the image from his mind.

"What else?"

More photos, revealing even more gruesome tales. Warrick watched absentmindedly as the man pointed to several patterns along the skin, his voice low and quiet.

"These are old," Grissom explained, tracing the first mark. "Remember the explosion in DNA?"

Warrick nodded. How could he forget? Greg had landed in the hospital, several more were hurt. Catherine had been placed at fault even though no one had really blamed her. He could remember interviewing Greg in the process, could remember the pain the man had been in. But he had never known that the explosion had caused that much damage. There wasn't enough time to ponder over that, his eyes instead following Grissom's motions as the man began pointing to several other marks, smaller than the first, but still distinctively the same.

"He was burned…"

Grissom nodded, "The marks suggest a cigarette or something similar. These ones here could have been caused by a lighter or a match."

Moment by passing moment he felt himself growing sicker, his stomach twisting into knots, threatening to heave any contents that were shrouded inside. But he held them at bay, his eyes closed as he tried to bring himself back to reality, trying to escape the dark thoughts ringing in his mind.

"This just wasn't abuse," he finally commented, finding his voice. "This was torture."

"I think we'll find out just how much the further we go along," Grissom agreed. "We can only see what's on the outside; I'm certain Greg's supporting a broken bone or two, and probably has healed from others. Not to mention his mental and emotional state."

It was true…even if Greg did survive the upcoming trials, even if he was allowed to walk free, was it possible for him to survive long enough to heal? Between his malnutrition, the dependency on drugs, and the physical injuries he had sustained there was no telling what way it would go. Greg could very well die in the process, and Warrick had trouble believing that in itself would be an unfortunate matter. Where he was now, with everything that had happened, that still had to happen, maybe death wasn't such a bad outlook after all.

**TBC**


	5. Small Steps

**Sorry for taking so long to have this next part out! Love hearing your comments so don't forget to review!**

**Thanks goes** **out to _Kegel_ for a beta, and to _Jenny_ for her help with this chapter. **

* * *

**Chapter Five: Small Steps**

He had stayed there for as long as he could. Yet it was apparent that the pair would not finish for several more hours. As much as he wanted to remain there, to assure them that they were indeed safe, there was other business to be done. It had only been hours since Greg was brought in, and yet it felt like days, even weeks perhaps. Time was moving so slowly it seemed as though the world itself had stopped revolving. He had only waited long enough to speak a few quiet words with Nick, trading information with the man.

The news was not encouraging, but he would carry it back to the crime lab as asked. His only reason for loitering there longer than he should was to wait for another patrol car. Added safety. He would not let what happened to Greg happen to someone else. Not if he could help it.

The drive back was uneventful, Brass gripping the steering wheel tightly, listening to the scanner. There were only blurbs, light crimes here and there, the usual that was found in a busy night concerning Vegas. Two 419s, several robberies, but nothing out of the ordinary. That was good; they didn't need any more distractions for the night. They were already busy enough.

That much was apparent as he walked through the doors. People from all shifts were scurrying about the lab, rooms crowded, the tension hanging thickly in the air. So much worry, so much concern, excitement in others; not everyone knew Greg and so some saw it only as a cold case that had come back to life. It was normal in consideration; he had witnessed the elation in others involving cold cases, could feel the drive behind the knowledge they were bringing a convicted killer to justice. But he couldn't feel it now…

"What do we know?"

He hadn't seen the other man, but even so Brass hadn't been startled. Over the years he had adjusted to the quiet man that was Gil Grissom, had expected his sudden appearances, his quiet departures. He had also seen the other moods the man supported in the most trying of times. Anger, grief…much of what was showing now. The man was battling an inner-demon, trying to remain calm, trying to distance himself, much as Brass was. But how could you when it was this personal?

"Two more bodies; one's recent, probably connected."

"The other?"

Just like Grissom to jump straight to the point. A trait to be fond of, or annoyed by, he wasn't sure as of yet.

"Old…skeleton is all that remains. Could be a coincidence that it's even there," Brass offered quietly.

"Or maybe Sanders was in the business of killing long before his disappearance."

It hadn't been his remark, hadn't been Grissom's. The voice had been indistinguishable, Brass being thrown temporarily off guard at the stranger standing before them now. Crisply dressed, tall, mid-age…he was as intimidating as the expression on his face revealed. If he was stunned by their welcoming silence, the man didn't indicate it even in the least. Instead he merely moved, tucking the files under one arm.

"You are?"

Grissom had found his voice; that was probably a good thing. The words that had started to form in his own head hadn't been as polite.

"Darren Mathews, I'm working your case."

"Since when?"

Again it had been Grissom that answered. Again it was probably for the best. Even though Brass was forced to remain professional he didn't want to, and his emotions would have taken over if Grissom hadn't beat him to it. He took a breath, steadying himself, calming himself.

"Started the case when this fiasco first began; the second murder at least. I found the marked bottle cap that connected the crimes. Ecklie thought it would be best if I objected my opinion in the case again."

"You were in the first three cases," Grissom remembered, his voice dropping then. "Why not the last three?"

"I originally was hired to work days; I was ousted to nights to help cover when Sanders first went missing. You withdrew the request to find a replacement, so Ecklie pulled me back to days."

"Then why come back now?"

He had finally found his voice, his brain ticking inside his head, an eerie feeling stirring up inside of him. Brass didn't trust this man; he didn't care about Greg, didn't know who the man was, who the man used to be. Maybe it was because the detective felt an edge of responsibility. He had never been a family man, but had learned to grow close to everyone on the team, Greg included. That was something he wasn't going to lose, especially now after having just gotten the man back.

"Objective viewpoint. I'm not connected emotionally. Ecklie doesn't want to lose this case."

"This case isn't going to be lost," Grissom warned him. "Our jobs do not change."

"Then you won't mind that I'm here. If you excuse me, I have some reading to do," he indicated to the files that were tucked under his one arm. No doubt the case files from the previous murders he had missed out on.

Darren did not wait for a response, simply pushing by them, disappearing down the hall. Near him he could hear Grissom shift, balancing his weight as the man turned. Brass knew he was watching the man retreat, just as he was, could feel, just as he was, the same fury building inside.

"I'll check up on him."

One simple statement, but it burned deep inside of him. He was going to find everything he could about Mathews. Find whatever he could, anything he could to have the man removed from the case. Objective viewpoint…cruel viewpoint if anyone would care to ask him. Yet it remained; Brass had said one simple statement, and Grissom replied with one single word.

"Thanks."

* * *

_**October 6, 2007**_

_**3:24 pm**_

_She had never been inside here before. Why hadn't she ever come? She had wanted to, mostly due to curiousness, but the question plagued her mind. What exactly was she curious about? Why was coming here such a big deal?_

_Now she had come only to help; it was after the fact, too late to change what had already been done. Lena and Aaron had been here the day before and they had continued packing up his stuff today. Greg had a paid contract until the end of this month concerning his apartment; that was still weeks away, but it was coming quickly. The owner of the apartments had been sympathetic, but business was business, and without it he would be out of business. Already a new contract had been signed; someone was waiting to move in. _

_Sara ran her fingers over the countertop, imagining, if she even could, the food Greg prepared here. What he cooked on the stove, where his tastes dwelled. She had an idea that was vague, knowing and imagining his taste in what was spicy and perhaps unique. Something she never quite liked, maybe part of the reason they never had many dinner dates._

_It was normal to dine together, even more so when working cases. They were often excruciatingly long; they couldn't eat at the scenes, and a bite at the local diner was often appreciated. But that was different than an actual date, she supposed. Yet she had to wonder why she was thinking of it in the first place. Why did it matter to her?_

_She cared about Greg…had cared, she reminded herself dully. But caring for someone, and wanting to date them…it was different. Not that it would have worked; they were flimsy things, relationships. They gave you hope, gave you a chance to dream. And when you had reached that pedestal when you were held so high and you felt as though everything was secure…it all disappeared._

_And other times it never even began. Sara could only shake her head slowly, packing away more of the dishes, wrapping them carefully. They were beautiful, fancy yet worn with time. It had been a gift, or so said Lena. His grandmother had given it to her, and she had given it to him. She had always expected a daughter to pass them to, but that had never happened. Greg hadn't fussed about it as most men would. He cared too much about their feelings to say differently. That's what made him so different, Sara decided with a sigh, closing the lid. Another box, another set of memories. _

_The kitchen was done; it hadn't been that difficult. Greg may have been a lab rat once, but he was not a packrat aside from the suggestions of others. He just didn't keep things tidy. Sara had already packed a bundle of his dirty clothes. She had offered to wash them, but Lena had scolded her with a sad expression. There wouldn't be a need to wash them. Not now; later maybe, but certainly not now._

_Dully she grabbed another box, resting it on the bed as she packed away his pillows and blankets. She paused however, her hand crossing a new texture. It was soft like the blankets, but coarse in some spots. A moment of wonderment crossed her face before she untangled the object within the sheet, pulling it free. It was a simple small teddy bear, two eyes where the shine had worn off, a threaded nose that had almost dissipated. Much of the fluffing had been worn down, the stuffed animal balding in some spots. _

_She had never imagined him sleeping with a teddy bear, but at the same time it didn't surprise her. Without thought she brought it close, inhaling as her eyes closed. It smelled like him…if someone could have a smell. Already she could feel the tears forming in her eyes. _

"_He got that when he was five. For some reason he could never part with it, not even when he left us."_

_She hadn't heard Lena come. Sara pulled away quickly, embarrassed at having been caught in such a state. Hastily she wiped her eyes, blaming some unseen dust on her reaction, carefully setting the bear down in the box amongst the covers. _

"_He must have loved it," Sara commented quietly. She never had anything to love when she was little; that concept was foreign to her._

"_You can keep him if you want."_

_Sara shook her head, meeting Lena's gaze then. Surely she would want to keep something with that much sentiment. "I can't accept that. They're your memories…not mine."_

"_We have all the memories we need," Lena told her softly. "One little bear isn't going to take that away from us. But one little bear can give it all back to you."_

_Lena touched her arm tenderly, a warm smile showing. As warm as it possibly could be. The older woman turned then, departing from the room, leaving Sara to her thoughts. She stood for a moment perplexed, considering the option in her mind. She wanted to keep it…wanted something to remember him by, wanted something other than her memories. _

_Slowly her fingers toyed with the bear, pulling him free from the cardboard prison. She ran a hand along the length of the body, brushing free the lint that clung to the random curls of fuzz that still resided on the bear. _

"_You must have loved him, too," Sara commented quietly, feeling slightly embarrassed carrying a conversation with an inanimate object._

"_His name is Cody."_

_Sara jumped at her voice, but Lena didn't seem to notice, only passing through the room. Heart beating in her chest it took several long seconds for her to formulate any kind of response. One breath, then she smiled, turning back to the bear. Maybe it wasn't so strange after all._

"_Don't worry, I'll take care of you now," she whispered, drawing the bear into a tight embrace. She could smell him again, and with her eyes closed she could almost imagine him. Almost… _

* * *

He had put in a plea of 'not-guilty' to seven counts of tampering with evidence. It had been his lawyer, Denise Feldman, who had pushed for it. But then again that was her job; that was why she was there. A guilty plea wouldn't allow him a chance for bail and that was what Greg needed most of all. Now all they had to do was wait. That was the hardest part of all.

Nick let out a sigh as he folded his arms, locking a brief gaze with Sara who stood across from him. There was worry on her face, mixed with relief perhaps. Or at least that was how he read her. He didn't blame her; Nick had gotten the news shortly after returning to the crime lab. Sara had pulled herself from the case.

He didn't blame her…but he was angry at the same time. Angry because he knew she could do more by working the case; angry because Greg needed all the support behind him that he could get…angry because he himself wanted to pull away from the case. But he couldn't…the twinge of guilt that had worked its way through him had done nothing for his self-esteem.

A lot in the recent past hadn't done well for his self-esteem. Another sigh and he moved to pace the room, arms hanging loosely by his side now. What was taking so long? It seemed convenient for others to rush the process when it was in their favor, but when it came to letting someone out? Nick shook his head, coming to a stop as he leaned against the other wall.

Greg's bail had been set at the prelim. It was high, as expected, but not unrealistic. Even more so that they only had to pay ten percent. It made it easier…but no less painful. Nick swore if had to listen to the 'if he leaves city limits' lecture one more time then Greg's charges would be the least of their worries. Yes, ten percent was easy, the entire bail amount not so much. But between an ankle monitor, and the rest of the team as well as Greg's family, it was difficult to imagine the man would be going anywhere anytime soon. Nick wouldn't let anything happen to him…not if he could help it.

He swore the quiet promise to himself, eyes closing as he forced himself to calm down. Getting edgy, especially here in the jail, wouldn't help anyone. His mind wandered, casting back to the scene he had finished only hours before. He and Catherine had spent most of the night, some of the morning digging up the bodies, searching for trace, collecting evidence. A quiet process that had disturbed them both.

Assuming it was one thing…actually seeing it….Nick swallowed. It couldn't be true; he knew Greg. Greg wouldn't have done this, couldn't have done this. But if that was the case then why were they here now? Why was all of this happening? More importantly, why hadn't they stopped it before it came to this?

"He's going to be okay."

Sara broke through his thoughts, and Nick gave her a slight nod, wanting to show her that he was strong on his own. Before, over a year ago, maybe he wouldn't have been. That was then, this was now. He was a different man; stronger than before. Greg would turn out the same way, Greg would recover…he had to. The thought was only one among a million. They still had the case to face, still had the trial, and there still was a chance that Greg would go away again, the next time without bail. At that point they wouldn't be able to do anything.

For the first time in his life, Nick hated his job. Okay, maybe not the first time, he mused. There had been his fair share of dreary cases, and even more so cases that turned out to nearly cost him his life. He couldn't remember how many guns had been pulled on him, the count as foggy as his mind had been after Nigel Crane, a psychotic stalker that had pushed him out of the window.

And that seemed like the least of his worries. There had been times before when Nick had felt like quitting, to just get up and leave Vegas and never return. To run away from everything that haunted him. Yet there was something that was holding him here, and Nick knew it was his makeshift family. He couldn't abandon them. He couldn't abandon Greg.

At the thought he raised his head, the slight sounds catching his ears. A smile crossed his face, locking eyes with the other man before he turned away. He had never been more overjoyed to see someone before, and yet felt so sick inside at the same time. Greg's face still held the deep and withdrawn expression, still marred in bruises, contrasting to the bright orange of his jumpsuit.

"I don't understand."

His voice was timid, coarse, as though he had been screaming or perhaps crying for hours. Maybe he had been; Nick wouldn't be surprised given the ordeal. Still it was difficult to tell. And yet it wasn't that which bothered him the most. Slowly, Nick let out a breath moving towards him, stopping as Greg seemed to pull away.

Awkward as the situation was, it took a moment for him to find his voice, offering jest to ease the tension in the air. "Did you really think we were going to leave you in there?"

Still there was no response from Greg. It was as if what he had spoken before had stolen all of his words, but Nick realized then as though someone had socked him in the gut. Greg had actually expected to be left in there. Surely he couldn't… But then had been forgotten once…not forgotten, but lost. Was it any different in Greg's eyes? Maybe it was just something he had grown used to. The knowledge didn't make it any easier to swallow, and Nick cast his gaze to the side as Sara came up next to him.

"Come on," she spoke softly, holding out a hand. "We need to get you taken care of."

* * *

_**October 12, 2007**_

_**8:15 pm**_

"_You're late."_

_So much for the friendly greeting._ _Whatever happened to the employee appreciation week? After all he did come here five days a week, working eight to twelve hour shifts. Was it too much to greet him with a simple 'hello', or maybe a 'thanks for coming in, we really need you'? Course not. You show up early for your shift near every day, and the one day you're late…_

"_There was traffic," he offered up with a growl, pulling his lab coat on. _

"_Hodges…this is Vegas…there's always traffic."_

"_Well today, there was more traffic than usual." He sat down, sorting through the files. The beginning of his shift, and already he was backed up. What in the world did the day tech do? He would have lodge a complaint with Grissom. Explain that it wasn't his job to finish up someone else's work. After all, if it stressed him, then he couldn't do his job. Grissom would understand, the man knew how frustrating it was to clean up someone else's mess. _

"_Holiday shopping."_

"_What?" _

_Nick stood opposite from him, watching in dismay as he continued to sort through the mess that was covering his counter. _

"_Reason for so much traffic."_

"_It's October."_

"_People go shopping in October. Halloween? Ever hear about it. Besides, I buy all of my gifts early; then I'm not stuck waiting in long lines, or risking being trampled to death to get a supposedly great sale."_

"_When was the last time you got a gift for anyone?"_

"_Get one every year," Hodges defended himself. "Kobayashi Maru would be very unhappy if I didn't."_

"_Who?"_

_He let out a sigh, leaning back in his chair. There were more important things to do than to trade pointless banter with someone who obviously did not understand. But being the tolerant fellow that he was it was worth educating the naïve in any way that he could. With a snap he pulled on some rubber gloves, allowing the slightest of grins to cross his face._

"_Kobayashi Maru, my felis domesticus."_

"_Your cat…"_

"_A faithful companion."_

_It was clear the other man didn't understand…pity, it was a real shame. The Texan could have a lot of potential if he only put his mind to it. Yet he was one of many that failed to understand the higher level of intelligence. A sad fact that he would have to live with for perhaps the rest of his life. Not a hard feat considering he had already spent half of his life doing so. No one understood a child genius, and everyone hated an adult genius until they died. Then he would be famous; sad notion that he wouldn't be around to observe it. _

"_Hodges…have you ever thought…about, you know. Finding a human counterpart?"_

"_What? Like Bonnie and Clyde? Lois Lane and Clark Kent? I don't think so. The happily ever after only happens in fairy tales. It's not real."_

"_You do know that Bonnie and Clyde were real, right? And they didn't live happily ever after, they were gunned down."_

"_My point exactly._ _You get drawn into a relationship and the next thing you know…bullet between your eyes."_

"_You need help."_

"_You realize you're like the seventh person to tell me that?"_

_The man laughed, "You realize that it probably means something?"_

_It could mean several things, or so he reasoned. He always liked to take the second reason, the fact that he was brilliant beyond measure that he was portrayed as a hapless individual who was in desperate need of help. Instead he was a mastermind, bottling everything up inside so that he did not discourage those around them. After all, self-esteem was a hard thing to fix once it was broken. _

"_Do you have a reason for being here? Other than the fact that your mom and dad got hot in bed one night and you were conceived purely by accident? Not that I want to know, so don't enlighten me."_

_Had he crossed the line on that one? Perhaps…perhaps even more so looking at the man's face. If Nick didn't throttle him now, he probably would after shift. He made a mental note in his mind to watch his back when he left for the night. _

"_Results for my scene?"_

"_Of course," Hodges rolled his eyes. "You know I just walked through the door, but knowing how important that case was to you I did a rush on it in the car while I was driving here."_

"_I gave it to you two days ago."_

"_I've been busy."_

"_Doing what? Christmas shopping? Or don't tell me, you got that done last month; you're an early bird."_

_Hodges swept his hands over the counter. "Fix this for me, and I'll run your samples first."_

"_Fix it for you?"_

"_Why is there an echo in here?"_

_He watched, perplexed as Nick stepped forward, scooping the files up in his hands. He hadn't expected the man to actually do anything, had planned on the man just leaving, which would allow him to start working for the night. Nick didn't comment, didn't even look at him, instead strolling out of the trace lab, and without a ceremonious introduction, dropped them into a heap on the floor._

"_There, taken care of. Page me when you get the results."_

_Could he have said something? Maybe…it wasn't often he was at a complete loss of words. So far the night had gone well…and it had barely started. Heaving a sigh he moved to his feet, ignoring the glares and questioning glances that were shot his way. It wouldn't be long before rumors started. He hated rumors, unless of course he had been the one to start them. _

_He had managed to pick them all up in one load. It wasn't as easy as Nick had made it seem. Did that mean he had to start working out? He nearly laughed at the idea. His mind was the one that needed a workout, not his arms. Nick was just upset that he couldn't match his level of intelligence. It was a natural reaction, really it was. Feeling better, more confident, he sorted through the files; he pulled free the one Nick had been referring to earlier._

_A woman in her early forties, gunned down in a back alley. Like he didn't have anything better to do. Where was the interesting stuff? He sorted through the samples with a sigh. They would come back with the normal trace results. It had been so long since something exciting had shown up on his table. _

"_Hodges?"_

"_What?"_

_Why couldn't anyone see that he was busy? They get mad at him because he was late, then everyone consistently insisted on interrupting his work. But his expression changed when he looked at her. Whatever the reason, Mia wasn't here for idle chit-chat._

"_I need you to double check something for me."_

"_Why me?"_

_His time was valuable; and if a case concerned something that could possibly land him in hot water, he wasn't interested. _

"_I need you to double check a DNA sample."_

"_I'm a trace technician," he answered bitterly. He was about to tell her to consult Greg; that was the man's department after all, but he was reminded of the fact the man was no longer around. It had been both dull and hectic around here for the first few weeks, but things were now almost back to normal. Unless you considered a few people who randomly broke down in tears at the mentioning of his name normal. Another note; watch what you said to Sara._

"_I know," Mia nodded to him. "But you're still a scientist. I want to make sure you're seeing what I'm seeing before I go to anyone else."_

_He let out a smile, taking the paper from her. Yet another naïve person who needed his guidance. "Why me?"_

"_Because if word of this gets out and I'm wrong, I can blame it on you and your incessant drivel."_

"_I do not deal in the matters of drivel," he warned her. She said nothing, but indicated to the paper to which he obliged. The sooner she got out of here the better. "What am I supposed to be looking at?"_

_Once again she didn't say anything; but this time there wasn't a need. Inside he felt his heart skip a beat. It was ludicrous…_

"_Faulty test; run it again."_

"_That's the third one," she whispered. _

"_I know most people consider me versed in most aspects of life so I'll share what knowledge I have with you. You can't have fresh DNA of a dead man show up randomly. You contaminated it somehow."_

"_Greg was never declared dead…they never found a body."_

_News to him…a sarcastic thought; not really._ "_They gave him a memorial."_

"_They were wrong…they had to be. Either they are, or the results are."_

_He wasn't sure how to respond. It couldn't be true, it didn't make sense. Why would Greg's DNA show up on their latest body? _

**TBC**

* * *

****Discrepancy on the actual name of Hodge's cat. Either Kobayashi Maru or Kobayashi Kau. Went with Kobayashi Maru because it was the most common finding in my research. If someone knows the source for sure let me know!**


	6. First Steps

**Sorry for the long wait, a mixture of weather problems, holidays and writers block contributed to it. Short chapter but I'm hoping for a longer one next time. Hope you're still reading! Thanks to Kegel for the beta**

* * *

**Chapter Six: First Steps**

She didn't touch him. There was no way for her to know whether or not he would accept her even doing so. The last thing either of them needed was rejection, even if it lasted only for the briefest of moments. He seemed to be watching her, his eyes glazed with watery tears and rimmed with redness. If they were the subject of tears from desperation, or the results of the withdrawal she would never know. Still she stood, hand extended, waiting and watching for him to accept the offer, for him to make the first move, and he did. He moved in the opposite direction.

"Can't."

Never had she heard a word spoken so coldly, and have the word impact her with so much emotion. Near her Sara could feel Nick stiffen, responding to the answer Greg had given. She could feel her own throat go dry, could feel her heart beating in her chest, her mind lost for words.

"Greg?"

She might have been at a loss for words, but Nick wasn't. The man near her had taken a step forward, coming to a halt as Greg retreated yet another step in accordance with his own. Whatever memories plagued Greg still had him entwined in depth within his own conscience, plaguing his soul, and battering his mind. He was not the same person he had been once; she would have to remind herself of that. Even so, he should be able to acknowledge that they were here to help him. Why else would they have come?

"Go," Greg shook his head. There was a pause, the silence filled with his heavy breath, a dry swallow shortly after as he fought for the words that seemed to resist in coming. "I'm fine."

"You're not fine," Sara breathed, her own tears seeking a source of release. For years, too many years, she had been an expert in keeping her emotions at bay. In was no secret that she had her moments, that there were issues that ate away at her conscience. Now it was stronger than ever, but now it hadn't been her choice. With every case she struggled to keep herself at a distance, to not allow herself to come to care about the victim, or the family of the victim. She never had that chance; she already had cared about Greg.

His hands were pressed against his head, palms into his eyes as he was shaking his head. He hurt; had to, on more than one level. Any sane person would be buried beneath a tedious ache; at the same time any sane person would take the offer of help from those who were their friends. It had been a long time…but their concern hadn't dwindled even in the slightest. Surely he knew that. He had to know that.

Sara hadn't moved, but near her Nick had. The Texan covered the gap between them in a few long strides, a hand extended to grab that of Greg's. For comfort, or for encouragement to leave she would never know. Greg had seen him coming in the last moment, had backed up in a hasty manner until he pressed against the wall. There was nowhere else for him to go and his pale, timid complexion changed without warning.

"Do not touch me."

His voice had gone from an insecure rasp to a deadly hiccup, his face hardening as his eyes narrowed. Nick came to a stop, hands holding out in the air to show he meant no harm. Inside of her Sara felt sicker than before, watching as the expression on Greg's face faded from anger to an alarming fear. The man was whispering under his breath, silent words she could not hear, but the suggestions of apologies were visible enough.

His arms had encircled his torso now, small tremors working their way through his body. Nick took another step near him, and Sara could see Greg visibly flinch, but Nick's voice was warm and quiet. He said something to the smaller man, what exactly she couldn't tell, but she could see Greg shaking his head.

"It's better this way."

Better? How could it be better? Sara was losing control of her emotions, a silent war battling inside of her. It didn't take her long to shake it off, cursing herself as she did so. This was the last place she needed to break down, but at the rate things were going, she wasn't going to last.

Still the questions plagued her mind. Questions that were desperately seeking answers. Answers she couldn't get, not here, not now, despite how much she wanted them. They would have to wait; even so it did not lessen their relentless pounding of her heart. Why was it after so long in torment that Greg would reject them? What had they done to make him fear them so much?

He was crying now, avoiding the other man's gaze. Nick had managed to get closer, but still he didn't move to touch Greg. Sara could hear a few words, enough to piece together what was being said. The very same words that ran through her mind as well. It was pure chance that Nick was better at finding the words than she was. If it had been her she would have failed miserably.

"It's safe here."

Greg had choked the word out in-between a silent sob. Nick counted him, his voice louder this time than it was before. He promised Greg the same thing Sara would have. He would be safe; they wouldn't let anything happen to him. Not again, not this time. It worked, or so she thought. His gaze met that of Nick's, but instead of nodding he was shaking his head.

"It's not me, it's you," he whispered. His gaze changed from Nick's to hers, before dropping altogether.

The statement confused her at first, and then frightened her. Nick had turned her way, and she shook her head. What did he mean by that? They would never hurt him; how was it that Greg could even think of such a thing? Hope was slipping, and doing so at an alarming rate. If he couldn't trust them, then what was left?

"You are going," Nick continued after the briefest of moments. Sara felt herself drawn back to the reality of the situation, watching as if it were a replay of Greg denying it once again. This time though, the Texan wouldn't let up.

"You are; by yourself, or if we have to make you. The choice is yours."

She could only blink, the words floating through her mind. Make him? How could you make him, when you could hardly get near him, when you couldn't even have physical contact without him recoiling? How could Nick expect her to do so, and risk destroying any possibility of reestablishing what was lost between them?

Her fears were subdued shortly after, for Nick must have read her thoughts. Or maybe he was considering the same issues; perhaps it was all a bluff. If it was a bluff, the only thing they had to worry about was whether or not Greg would fall for it.

"Come on, man, don't make us do this."

He was still shrunken against the wall, his breaths coming in heavy quiet gasps. The tears had ceased, leaving behind only faint traces of smears along his cheeks, his eyes showing even more irritation than before. With a free hand he reached up and rubbed them, then gave the smallest of nods.

"I'll come."

* * *

_**October 12, 2007**_

_**9:00 pm**_

_Her head was pressed against her hands, working to relieve some of the pressure that was there. Catherine had stayed up too late that day, had allowed herself to loosen up. In the process she had downed one too many drinks. It had been her intention to call in that night, had even slept in, remembering only when her phone went off that she had forgotten to do so. _

_Still she had tried. There wasn't any chance for her. When Grissom had told her what had happened, Catherine hadn't thought about calling in again for the rest of the night. Instead she forced herself to take a cold shower and had downed three cups of coffee on her drive in. Even now she sucked tenderly at the half-filtered muck that resided in her cup. Anything she could do, whatever could possibly help her. She needed to focus, needed to be alert. _

_The others were here, too; no doubt watching her hung-over state attempt to deal with the pain and nausea that had been left behind. Everyone, that was, save for Grissom. And he had been the one to call her in. Damn him all. Why was he always the last person to show up? One would figure since he was the head of the night team that he would at least attempt to set a good example. Then again, it was Grissom. _

_There was a small smile despite her pain, and even that seemed to fade as the very man himself entered the room. From there it was all business; she would have to find another time to soothe her figurative wounds. Right now it was the case that was important. _

"_What do we know?"_

"_Female, Caucasian, late thirties," Nick started, chewing on his fingernail as he did so. Nick had been the primary on the case. Warrick had assisted, as well as the new guy, Mathews. The younger CSI sat near the back. Since his coming here it had been obvious he didn't enjoy the work. Why he even stayed surprised her, but she wouldn't question it. Any help was better than no help at all._

"_GSW to the forehead; David found her identification in her pocket; Mary Salen._ _We spoke with her husband this morning. He said she never came home the night before. Thought maybe she was staying with a friend. Apparently a party girl," Warrick contributed. _

_Old times; Catherine could remember them quite well. There had been a time when she was like that. Some would say she still was, given her present state. She wouldn't blame them. If it hadn't been for the news, she wouldn't be here at all. It was as encouraging as it was disheartening._

"_Where did his DNA show up?"_

"_Victim's clothes._ _Hair follicle. Mia ran the test, then confirmed it to be sure. It is Greg's."_

_Greg's DNA, showing up on a body months after his disappearance. It was possible, but not very plausible. It meant one of two things. The first being nothing. Hair could be collected, transferred without much difficultly. The DNA could have ended up there by mischance; two people crossing paths at one point in their life without much thought. A coffee shop, a grocery store. A casino even…and it could be by chance that the stray hair resided on the victim's clothes without thought. Also possible that it was transferred more than once. Unlikely, but there was no real way to tell. _

_The more likely explanation was the one she favored even less. Greg was still alive, and though that was encouraging, it meant that the possibility of Greg being the suspect was high. Even more so with the hair follicle having the root attached. It meant force. The victim would have fought back. But there were no signs of a struggle…minor bruises on the victim could be from the fall. There was no DNA under the fingernails. No fingerprints, no nothing. The scene had been cleaned, leaving behind the body as the only trace. Greg was a smart man; he would know how to clean a scene. But if that had been the case, why leave the hair behind?_

"_Maybe he wanted us to find it," Nick suggested quietly._

"_I didn't say anything," she was the one to remind him. _

"_I know, but you thought it."_

_She gave him a nod, reabsorbing herself in her own thoughts. Maybe he wanted it to be found, as Nick had so suggested. But why? Was it a game, a sort of cat and mouse? Because he so desired, or because he had no choice? Hard to tell now, hard to tell why. But they knew one thing for certain. The odds that Greg was still alive had risen dramatically over the past twenty-four hours. _

* * *

He had crossed the line. There was always a line, no matter the situation. The key was finding out where it was, and knowing when to tread cautiously. He was never quite like Grissom, never a man that divulged in puzzles for simple amusement. For Nick, he wanted the answer and wanted it then and there. In his mind there was no point in waiting. As years went by he learned to tolerate the puzzles. After all it wasn't much of a choice on his behalf. At time he was even quite good at it. But this time had been different.

If he had paid more attention to the details, to the slight motions, the silent gestures, Nick may have understood. Now he felt guilty, but could only hope his actions would have a greater benefit in the end. Right now he knew he had been in the correct frame of mind. His actions, though on the line of aggressive, perhaps even bullying, had been the key in convincing Greg to come. If it would have graver repercussions in the long run Nick could not tell. A part of him hoped in silence that any wrongdoings could be undone, but at times it wasn't always that easy. Nothing was ever that simple; he knew that, had already accepted it.

But he couldn't say he felt exalted by his actions. Though they had given him what he wanted it was the way he had preceded with the situation that hung heavily on his conscience. He had never seen such an array of emotions in any single person before, that statement alone considerable seeing the amount of people he dealt with in his line of work. Most people that he came across were involved in the politics of crime, able to mask their emotions or let them run rampant in order to induce confusion. They were masters at it, but for Greg it had been real, the raw emotion clear and distinct. Worse, he was not the only one who felt this way.

Sara had held her tongue until they had brought Greg here. Once he was behind closed doors however she had not stalled in releasing a torrent of words so ridden with fury Nick had feared her mouth alone could break him. He couldn't argue with what she said, but he couldn't agree with it either. Feeble attempts to block out what she said did little good, the words still rung in his mind. But if she truly meant them, he couldn't tell.

Emotions were the hardest things to deal with, and they didn't come any easier to Sara. Her words were spurred from the anger inside of her, perhaps the same anger he felt as well. Angry because of all that had happened, angry because they hadn't been able to stop any of this earlier. How would things be, if they had found him sooner? A question that was tugging at his mind and couldn't be answered.

Near him Sara collapsed into a chair, obviously worn for words, one hand discreetly rubbing her forehead. How long had it been? Time moved slower when one was waiting, inching by little at a time, a maddening pace. He would have gone in with Greg, would have offered him support but the man had declined, the single 'no' the only word spoken since leaving the jail. He had drifted into himself again, exhausted and strained by the unexpected outburst. Who could blame him? As frail as he had to be it wouldn't take much to accomplish such a feat.

The words were so quiet they almost went missed, but Nick had picked up on the quiet sounds, and turned her way. "What?"

Her voice had changed, had grown softer, as though she regretted her earlier actions towards him but was unwilling to say so. "Why was he afraid of you? Afraid of…us?"

To that he had no answer, but he gave the best one that he could. "He wasn't before…when I processed him," he added for clarification. Before he spoke again he moved to sit near her, Sara moving to make room. "They found heroin in his system; maybe he didn't notice then."

"No," she shook her head.

He didn't want to believe it either, but his mind was grasping at empty air. What other explanation would there be? "Evidence doesn't lie…drugs mess with perceptions. It's possible that even now he doesn't know what's fully going on. Maybe he was hallucinating, maybe he still is."

"No."

"Sara…"

"He's not hallucinating."

She said it without hesitation, but it didn't make it true. How could he make her understand when not even he wanted to? Nick ran a hand over his face holding back a sigh. "How else would you describe it? If this was anyone else, you would agree with me."

"But it's not," Sara reminded him. "It's Greg. Aside from that, his actions, his reactions towards people, to what's going on…it's so random it's consistent. He knows what's going on, like someone who's been on the wrong side of the law before, he knows what to expect. Anything different…anything that's new or strange, that's not procedure, that's when he reacts. Hallucinations wouldn't have that affect on him."

A fact that made sense. It couldn't be argued with. Though he desperately wanted to do so. It was an excuse, something they could use to explain why Greg was acting in such a manner. Something that could be easily fixed. But there had been clear lucidity in his eyes, betraying any such notion. The dose of heroin, though high and potentially fatal to any new user, proved beyond a doubt that its hold had long ago lost grip on the young man. But even so his body would crave the drug, crave it as much as it craved food and water, as well as the very air that they breathed.

"I'm scared Nick," she whispered, drawing him out of his obscure reality.

His thoughts were not lost, but instead completely turned around as he looked her way. This, all of this had been hard on all of them, but throughout the course of the night and this coming day they had been worried, sickened, unnerved even, but the thought of fear had never once crossed his mind. Yet the more he thought about it, the more it became clear that fear had always been the underlying emotion swelling in all of them. What made it worse was the fact he was lost for words.

Unable to offer the console she so desperately sought he did the next best thing. Nick held out his hand, wrapping it about her shoulders, pausing only to see if she would resist and withdraw. But she didn't, allowing him to draw her into an embrace, offering support through the comforting hug.

They had never been intimate, had never been anything more than close friends, and even now there was little to be felt save for the friendship that had first been formed between them years ago. It was why it felt so awkward, but comforting at the same time holding to the knowledge that times were tough and friendship alone could carry you a long ways.

It was the same hope Nick held for Greg, the taunting knowledge that things would get worse before they got better, a curse holding inside of him. Time was the only factor that would tell them in the end if things would be as well as they wished for them to be.

**TBC**


	7. On the Right Road

**Sorry for the long update, it's been on and off busy. I'm going to try to keep up with regular updates but I honestly don't know when the next chapter will be out. Let me know if you're still reading though! Thanks to _Kegel _for the beta!**

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**Chapter Seven: On the Right Road**

It was next to impossible; having to sit, having to wait, never knowing and always assuming. The worst, that was. With each passing moment another thought, another notion, would creep into her mind, replaying old fears, bringing about new ones to stir up the emotional pot even further. She was tired, more from worry and anxiety than from anything else. But sleeping wasn't something that came easy to the anxious mind.

For a time Nick stayed with her. Earlier arguments had been forgotten, reckless emotions abandoned into a silent belief that it hadn't even happened. They conversed to pass the time, each discussion of little or no importance, the both trying their hardest to avoid the topics that crossed over the current issue at hand. They were both scared, and their fears were only growing as they knew only the same as before.

He couldn't stay forever. Nick had already arranged to pick up Greg's parents at the airport, and their flight was due in shortly. Sara wasn't sure if she was relieved or depressed at his departure. Being alone meant time to think, but it also led to worry. Having him here confused her mind, steered her thoughts away from what was most important, yet it distracted her from that which she wanted to think of the least. And as he left, the worries and fears crept back into her mind, taking hold of the empty space inside. More time passed, endless like the hallways that surrounded her, twisting and turning to such an extent that you no longer knew where you even were.

If she slept, she didn't remember, only foggy and vague memories surrounding her of what had happened next. It was like a dream, where one would watch the happenings from afar and feel nothing save for the empty pit inside. But as the doctor approached, her heart skipped a beat. He was here for her, not for someone else as it had been so many other times.

Now she wished she was more like Grissom. How the ability to read the man's face, to understand what he would say even before it was said, would help. Clumsily she stumbled to her feet, hands hanging by her side clenching into fists and then relaxing. Her entire body was trembling; from fear or hopeful anticipation she could not tell. He extended a hand, one that she met with her own unsteady grip.

Dr. Lance had been Greg's physician before and was no stranger to the team, let alone Sara. The same man had kept up with Greg's appointments after the lab explosion years ago. It was different this time; before she had simply been a visitor, coming to give Greg company and relief from his overbearing parents who worried too much. Sara wished now that they were here, uncertain of what to say or do. It was Lance who solved the problem by speaking first.

"Why don't we have a seat?"

Part of her wasn't sure why she did; her body ached from the hours of sitting already, surely the man must know that. At the same time she felt her heart leap in her throat, pounding viciously inside of her. Those words coming from the mouth of a doctor were never promising. And Greg's state wasn't inspiring either.

"He is going to be fine," Sara told him, trying to convince herself in the process. Those were the words she needed to hear most of all. More than anything, it was what she wanted to hear. Yet part of her feared that wouldn't be the case. There was something wrong with him, something caused by all those months he was gone, something that someone had done to him that couldn't be reversed.

The doctor let out a small smile, folding his hands on a knee. "In time, with proper care, counseling and firm supervision there's a chance he could lead a somewhat normal life."

_Somewhat normal?_ The words caught in her head confusing her. "What do you mean by that?"

She felt like an idiot even as the words left her mouth. There was little doubt in her mind that whatever Greg had gone through, was still going through, would surely have an effect on him permanently. She just hadn't wanted to believe it, and hearing it now made it seem all the more real. It was easier to remain in denial, where everything would work out with a logical answer.

"Given his current state his body is still recoiling from the trauma. The lost weight, the drug abuse, obvious depression…"

Sara felt the need to correct him. "He's not an addict."

She knew the look in his eyes. If this were another patient Sara knew she wouldn't try to be defending him. The signs were clear and obvious and there was no need to try and deny it. Lance was doing his best to come up with an explanation without offending her.

"Maybe not by choice, but his body has become dependent on a narcotic. We've started him on something to help with the withdrawal symptoms, but he will need to find help on his own. The clinic here has several therapy and counseling groups he could join and a few of them are strongly recommended."

Therapy…counseling. The words raced through her mind but she could barely hear them. A painful lump had formed in her throat, making it difficult to swallow. She had imagined many scenarios, but never any such as this. Her own counseling and support groups she had attended had been nightmarish in the least. Yet she didn't have any choice then, and the sinking suspicion that Greg wouldn't either was beginning to surface.

"We're also starting him on some fluids. Once he can tolerate those we can begin looking towards solid foods and most likely he'll be encouraged to find an organization to help balance out his eating habits. We've drawn some blood and ran several tests to find out what else he may have going on, taking in consideration how long he's been without food. Most patients in his state suffer from internal injuries and organ failure."

"When will we know?"

"Unless complications surface immediately, we should know in a few weeks, and go from there. I would like to keep him here for a few days and see how he's doing before we discuss about releasing him."

Days? In Sara's mind it was unreasonable. How could everything be cured in only a few short days? Still one would argue that the hospital was for the sick and dying, but then again wasn't Greg close to that already? Much of the healing and support would have to come from the outside, from his friends and family. But what good could they do unless they could reason with him and make him understand?

Lance was sitting there, waiting. Waiting for a response, an answer or even a question. Anything…as long as it was something. Sara found her voice, as shaky as it was, forming the only words that would come to her mind.

"Can I see him?"

* * *

_**October 12, 2007**_

_**11:25 pm**_

_There hadn't been this much excitement since the FBI case a few weeks ago. Crime was always prevalent in Vegas, most certainly in their job department, so after a while most of it became mundane. While that was true, there were always the cases that lingered, sticking to you like feathers greased in a batch of glue. You could pretend it didn't affect you, but it would be the furthest thing from the truth. And that truth was making it hard to concentrate. The fact he was now on his third shift wasn't helping much either. _

_Nick couldn't sleep though. Wouldn't want to even if he could. Though his body was craving it his mind was not. Fresh knowledge burned in his mind, questions tumbling over one another yearning to be answered. He wanted to hope, but didn't want to be disappointed. He was just becoming used to knowing the man would never come back. For too long he had spent endless days hoping something would turn it and it had only caused disappointing pain. This new evidence could prove otherwise. But even then…how comforting would it be to know Greg was alive, and not know where he was?_

_Nick swallowed the fear, ignored the concern as he leafed through the photos one more time. He was taking care to mark them all, grouping them in order from location to significance. The scene had already been released, and most likely no trace was left there to be found. Still, Brass was on his way with uniforms to secure it once more. Catherine and Sara were going to sweep it over once more with hopes of finding something that had been left behind the first time. If Greg had left behind a hair then maybe something more had been forgotten. Or maybe it hadn't…maybe the killer wanted them to think it was Greg. _

_It had happened before. Killers had left behind…mementos from previous victims. It was like a game of cat and mouse, a constant tease as the suspect toyed with the cops. Always one step ahead…the thought infuriated Nick. Could the killings be connected?_

"_How long do we have to do this?"_

_Out of all the questions that angered him the most, the one that really struck sore with him was wondering why he had been stuck with the newbie, Mathews. Ecklie had hired him on, so it was no surprise that the man was infuriating, narrow-minded and most of all picayune. Most of the first comments that came out of his mouth were racist and crudely-formed. He was impatient, and to sum it up an all-around-ass. If one could use such language to describe another living being._

"_Until we find something," Nick responded through clenched teeth._

"_That's the third time you've gone through that stack, if you haven't found it now then there's nothing there. We have a lot more important things to do anyways."_

"_Such as?"_

"_Three cases in tonight," Mathews pointed out. "There's a 419 in the Tropicana, we could hit that up."_

"_Days is taking care of it."_

"_I signed up for days, remember?"_

"_I don't really care," Nick responded. "You're on the night shift; you are doing what the rest of the night shift is. Focusing on a recent case that's connected to a cold one."_

"_There's a reason why they call it 'cold'. It's dead, gone, over with. Nothing's going to happen. In all the years that the Las Vegas Crime Lab has been operating there has only been a handful of cold cases solved. Most of them haven't been opened in decades, many more will never even be solved. While we keep wasting our time here, the suspects out there are killing, and will keep on killing because we're too focused on a case that's never going to be solved."_

"_The numbers aren't great," Nick admitted angrily, "But they are numbers. We did that, because we cared, because we took the time to care instead of chasing off after every fresh murder. And if we can solve this one then it's all the more power to us. We need to at least try. This man used to be one of us, we owe him that much."_

"_The man's a dirty investigator, he killed a cop. Where's the honor and glory in that?"_

"_Greg didn't kill that cop."_

"_So what?_ _The cop decided to kill herself and your little friend took a vacation? Wake up, the man's a killer!"_

_It all happened so fast Nick wasn't aware of what quite happened. He could feel his blood boiling as the argument escalated despite his efforts to remain calm. Fists were flying, blows coming his way even as he dealt his own. There were shouts, cries of alarm and almost as soon as it all begun it was ended. Strong arms had him, pulling him back, a voice in his ear, but he couldn't hear what was being said. Mathew's words still rang in his head. 'The man's a killer.'_

_Not Greg…it was the only thing he could think. Greg wasn't a killer…couldn't be a killer. The man didn't even have a gun, hadn't even handled one in all the years he had known him. There was no way, no logical explanation. _

"_Let it go Nicky, take it easy."_

_Warrick…it was Warrick who had him. Grissom had Mathews out in the hall by now, leaving Warrick behind to push the flailing Texan against a wall. The fury still burned fiercely in his veins, his heart pounded in his ears. The sound nearly drowned out everything around him, but Warrick's voice still came through, strong as the grip on his arms. _

"_You okay?"_

_No…but he would manage. He nodded, letting out a breath as Warrick relaxed his hold. The man stayed near, arms up as if he was on a basketball court waiting to intercept a play, as if expecting him to try and dodge back around to get to the other man once more. He wanted to…_

'_The man's a killer…"_

_Greg was no killer._

* * *

Everything always looked different in the daylight. It was the reason why they would often venture back to a scene during the day. Often they would see things that were missed earlier, masked by the darkness. Throughout all her years of training and experience Sara knew the difference could sometimes be startling. But even now it hadn't prepared her for this.

Before the dirt and grime had hidden away most of the bruises, like the shadows of the night did to evidence at a scene. Now that he was clean the marks shone through clearly, patterned against the pale white of his skin. His hair was a lighter tone as well; the dirt that once held fast between the thinned locks had given it a darker hue earlier. Now it was just as pale and lifeless as the rest of him. At least he wasn't dressed in the drabs of the orange jumpsuit anymore.

Instead it was a hospital gown; a pale blue spotted one with bits of whites that almost matched his skin. With the blankets pulled up to his waist the ankle monitor that secured his whereabouts was hidden, and it seemed almost that things were normal. Sara could pretend it was like after the explosion in the lab, pretend that in a few days he would be able to leave and go home. Pretend that they would see one another at work in the following weeks, trading jests and catching up over a cup of coffee after shift. That wouldn't happen here.

Worse, he didn't even look her way as she came in. His eyes were half-lidded, due most likely to the fatigue and stress of the previous day and all the events that had happened. Then maybe it was something he was on that was causing him to be unresponsive. It was the only hope she had, despite the truth of the knowledge of the real reason at hand. Greg had been this way even before taking him here.

Sara came in another step, pausing as she watched him, waiting and wondering if he would respond. She wanted him to, hated feeling so awkward around him. Nothing was said, nothing had changed and so she made her way across the room, fighting off the uncomfortable feeling. The chair against the wall brought her closer to him, but still left enough distance in case he lashed out as he had before. There was no indication he would. Sara would be the last to admit it out loud, but Greg had frightened her.

The man hadn't moved since she had sat down, still resting in the same position, slight tremors working through his body as a sheen of sweat had coated his skin. For anyone else she could have found only a little pity. For a time she had been drawn to the seductions of alcohol, and had suffered the ill fate of what was more than a terrible hangover when she realized an addiction had formed.

That had been her choice however. Her own stupidity and not seeking help when it was obvious that she needed it. Things could have ended a lot worse that night; even now she was still thankful for Grissom's intervention that not only kept her out of jail but saved her job as well. The consequences could have been serious.

She pushed the thoughts from her mind however. Now was not the time to reflect on her past. Especially when Greg hadn't been so lucky. Especially when he may have not had any choice in the matter. Greg needed support now, but what did one say in a situation such as this? 'I'm glad you're alive?'

It seemed ironic, but that was about all he was. It seemed hard to celebrate that small notion when nothing else was as it should be. Still she knew she had to try. If only she could somehow reach him…

"It's been a while, hasn't it?"

It was as if someone else was speaking the words. Out of everything, surely she could have come up with something better. But Sara was lost for words, even more so when she received no response. Still she wasn't about to give up. Hearing herself talk was better than listening to silence.

"A lot's happened since you've been gone. Warrick's married, I guess that's the biggest change. No need to feel bad for missing his wedding, he didn't invite any of us either. It was a surprise to all of us," she commented, letting the thought linger. It had affected others more than her, she realized. Another fact she failed to mention was that Warrick was also filing for a divorce. If she could, she wanted the topics to stay on the lighter side of things.

"Catherine's dating…again. At least this time he isn't a suspect in one of our cases. That's promising if you ask me. The rest of us…things have kind of been the same, as much as it could be. We've all missed you…"

She took a breath, letting the words play in her mind. _Where have you been, why haven't you come home sooner? Who did this to you?_

Questions that had already been asked, ones that still remained unanswered. She couldn't risk asking him the questions, the liability high since she was not working the case. The last thing she wanted to do was lose the case for the team, and have it handed off to someone else. Anyone else would press for full charges. Greg couldn't take that…she couldn't take that.

"The doctors say you can leave in a few days if everything's looking okay. They've given some recommendations of groups to look into. I know you're probably thinking you don't need any help, but you can trust me, they do help, even if only a little. That's better than nothing, wouldn't you agree?"

Why was she expecting a response? Greg hadn't moved at all during her monologue and it was clear that he wasn't even listening. If he was hearing her words they weren't registering. She wanted to yell at him, break down and cry, do something, anything if it only meant some kind of response. But she didn't, her thoughts interrupted as light from the hallway was blocked off.

She had seen them a few times before, Greg's grandparents, Olaf and Nana. Even now she had difficulties getting used to their names despite hearing Greg talk about them in the past. Sara gave them a weak smile, moving to her feet to greet them. Greg's state was shocking for anyone to see, and harder for a loved one.

"How is he?"

It was Nana that spoke first, her voice quiet as her eyes searched over the room for her grandson. Olaf didn't wait for an answer, moving around her as he made his way to the bedside. Sara watched for a moment and then shook her head.

"I'm not sure."

It was the only way she could answer the question without lying. His grandparents must have driven here rather than waiting for a flight. They were closer than Greg's parents, having only a handful of hours so it made sense, but Sara hadn't been prepared for them showing up as well. It was a silly notion in her head, because she knew in the back of her mind that they would. And why wouldn't they? They loved him.

"Papa?"

Greg's voice was soft, almost missed, but the sound brought Sara's attention back over where Olaf stood by his bed. He reached down, placing a hand against the man's cheek carefully. Greg didn't flinch, or pull back; instead he reached up with his own hand resting it against his grandfather's.

"Jeg har savnet deg."

Greg's voice was just a whisper, but it was laced with emotion and Sara realized then that the man was beginning to cry. Even though she couldn't understand what he had just said the mere sight of it threatened to stop her heart, forcing her to swallow a lump that had begun to form.

"Shh," Olaf quieted him gently, "Sov nå. Du er trygg."

* * *

_**October 13th, 2007 **_

_**4:55 am**_

_It had been a long time since he was last suspended from work. What made it all the more infuriating was the fact that Nick firmly believed he had been in the right. Mathews was only rebuffed, Ecklie informing him the Level One CSI was only a rookie, and not expected to be up with the standards at the crime lab just yet. Standards of work were one thing, but the standards of being a human being were another. Anyone would know better than to say what Mathews had. _

_Nick swallowed a frustrated scoff, taking another sip of the drink he had ordered. There was no better place to go than the bar when you were this mad. A three day suspension, and at the time when it was most crucial. Nick had tried pleading with Grissom, had tried to convince the man to revoke the suspension or even allow him to take it later. But the scientist had sided with Ecklie's decision. Had said something along the lines of 'reckless' and 'out of control'. 'We need to stay level-headed.' That was what Grissom had said._

_The only bonus was that Nick knew he wouldn't have to work with Mathews again anytime soon. Grissom would make a point in keeping them separate. Not even that lightened his spirits. What was he supposed to do for the next three days while everyone else worked away, solving the clues and potentially moving closer to find Greg, or at the very least finding out what happened to him?_

_Nick nodded to the bar tender as the man passed by, his beer being topped off once more. He was going to have one hell of a tab to pay when he was through. It was the only comfort he could seek at the moment, and so he would take it without as much as another thought. _

_He didn't look her way as the blonde sat next to him, ordering a lighter concoction than he had chosen. There was some polite talk between her and the bar tender, just general words traded back and forth and dare say it a flirt or two. Not that it was surprising. _

"_Shift isn't over for another three hours," he reminded her, downing more of his own beer. There weren't very many reasons he could think of why she was here, only the funny notion that she could simply head off and take breaks at will while still on company time._

"_I was worried," Catherine said simply. "You're not answering your cell, you're not at home, and I had to call a few places to figure out where you were."_

_Women, Nick could only roll his eyes. Sara had already called his cell several times before he silenced it. Now it was Catherine who was hunting him down. He wouldn't be surprised if Mia came looking for him next. "There are more important things to worry about."_

_It was the only thing he could think of in order to change the conversation. He didn't want to talk about what had happened. The scenario had already replayed several times in his mind. All of it was already enough. The last thing he wanted was another lecture, and in fact he was prepared to leave if she happened to launch into one. _

"_We found a link between the cases."_

_That was not something he had been expecting. "What? How?"_

"_A signature; Darren found it."_

"_Mathews?" Nick shook his head, "I don't believe it." The man wasn't even interested in doing the case in the first place. How could he have found it?_

"_Do you remember an engraved bottle cap from the first scene?"_

_That had been months ago…and even with stretching his mind he couldn't remember. Slowly he shook his head._

"_Warrick found it at the first scene away from the body, bagged it, notations…everything. But was never able to get anything off of it. We figured it was just some kid who had gotten bored and scribbled on it. The letters weren't even distinguishable. Mathews found a second one at the scene, also away from the body; the markings are almost identical."_

"_A signature that's not placed with the body" Nick wondered, "What good does that do?"_

"_Every killer has his or her own mark. Maybe whoever it is doesn't even realize it's happening. Warrick's trying to trace the bottle to find out what product it is. There's no logo or brand etched into it, he's hoping to run an analysis, maybe see if it's a drink or product that's rare. If we can narrow it down and find out who purchases it we might be headed in the right direction."_

"_Maybe it's not a signature," he mused. "The markings could be the brand or logo."_

"_They're not professional marks, they're definitely rough and done after it's been opened. Not before."_

"_Maybe it's not a company; what if it's something that was homemade and just sold on the streets?"_

_She was silent for a moment, but then nodded. "It's a good idea, we'll look into it."_

_He expected her to say more, but she didn't. Catherine stayed only long enough to finish off her drink, and pay her tab. It was only when she was moving to her feet, drawing her purse over her arm that she did pause. "You need a ride?"_

_Nick still had half his drink left, but slowly he nodded. He was in no shape to drive, and he had to get home somehow. Pulling out the money he dropped it on the bar, then moved to his feet, his insides still churning from both drink and knowledge as he followed her out. If this was the same killer…then there was still hope. Even as flimsy as it was, hope was still hope. _

_**TBC**_

* * *

Jeg har savnet deg – I've missed you

Sov nå. Du er trygg – Sleep now, you're safe

(These are just rough translations and may not be 100% accurate)


	8. Reunion

**Chapter Eight: Reunion**

* * *

_**October 15th, 2007**_

_**9:47pm**_

_Three days after the hair follicle had been found most of the questions had worked their way through the lab. Most of them were still unanswered. Theories were now working their way from person to person including a jumbled mess of what was possible and even worse what was most likely. What made it difficult was the fact he had his own questions, but no one came to him with answers, just more querying of their own._

_Robbins had taken care of the first two bodies, the ones left behind after Greg's disappearance. Some said he had killed the officer Darrison, but Robbins would attest otherwise. He wouldn't be the first to say that he had been friends with the man, but he would agree he knew the man well enough to know his true demeanor. There were others in the lab more capable of killing someone. _

_Now there was another body, somehow connected to the first, somehow being blamed once again as Greg's doing. The true question, he supposed, was why he listened to the others who said so. The man had been a good DNA technician, one of the best the LVPD had seen in quite some time. Greg was capable of more, that much was certain. He had a genuine interest in learning and growing. Nothing was ever enough for him it seemed._

_The first autopsy was always, as Robbins saw it, a rite of passage. For most it was hard to handle. Perhaps that was why Robbins liked to glorify it. It took a lot of will, and even some interest in order for one to hold their stomach in. He never blamed anyone for becoming ill at the site of a mangled and decaying body. He would have to say one would almost be inhuman if there wasn't some sort of response. _

_The difference with him was the fact that he had been around it for so long. Robbins was not a people person; he could not face wave after wave of people on a daily basis. In fact, he held many of the CSI's in high regards simply for their ability to face up to suspects day after day. Robbins preferred his suspects like this however…cold, quiet and unresponsive. _

_Just as he could not handle the living public, there were others who could not handle the dead. Robbins could remember Greg's first autopsy, and how surprised he was on how well the man handled it. He had been quiet, but forthcoming in honesty about how he felt and what he saw. Robbins had always mused the man would make a great coroner if interested, but Greg had turned down the offer several times. _

_He wondered if things would be different now if the man had taken the offer. Chances were he would make a good coroner. Chances were that he would still be here if he had._

_Though Greg dealt with death on a daily basis, and often sought those responsible, it didn't make the man a killer. So the likely logical explanation was that he had been kidnapped, disposed of at another time, another location. Sad as it was to try and believe it was better than what the alternative could be, and Robbins wasn't just referring to the possibility of Greg being the killer._

_There had been enough cases he had worked of kidnappings, and seeing the trials and tortures the victims had gone through was stomach churning at best. Those cases were the hardest to work, being up there along with innocent children who were murdered by the very people who were sworn to protect them from harm. If the others could only understand that, the enthusiasm of their hopes would die down. Because Robbins knew, as he was sure the others knew but didn't want to believe, that death wasn't always the worst thing that could happen. _

_He had yet to mention these thoughts to the other. Everyone had been in a good mood since the latest finding. Though three days had come and gone they had been filled with hope and a new promise. There was no proof, but at the same time no one could say otherwise. And hope was a funny thing._

_It could give you strength when you needed it the most. You could run for miles even when your legs felt ready to give out; you could stay awake for days even when your body craved sleep. It also brought out the best in people. Even the rookie, Robbins had noticed, Darren Mathews, had kept his distance and held his tongue even though he clearly thought otherwise. Whether it was from the same hope the others felt, or the hope he wouldn't get pounded once again for speaking his mind was unclear. _

_So Robbins, though sometimes he felt as though he was lost in his own little world, said nothing to join the realms of the others. He knew Greg's parents were flying back out again, having kept in touch with Grissom enough to know the details going on with the case. That part wasn't his job, Robbins knew. But Grissom was like the others, and often needed counsel, or at the very least someone to just talk to. _

_There were many things he was burdened with, and Robbins knew that the scientist still blamed himself for Nick's kidnapping. Add yet another possible one atop of it and it didn't make things any easier. That was the reason why Robbins said nothing. Unable to say anything to the man he considered to be the closest of friends he knew he couldn't say anything to anyone else regarding that matter either. _

_Let them hope, he decided. For what ill harm could hope possibly bring? In time the hope would die down once again, things would go back to normal, or as normal as they possibly could get. Another process of healing could begin…_

_Then maybe he was wrong, Robbins reasoned. It had happened before, for even the best judges of human character could misinterpret what was honestly being said. The coroner would be the last to admit he was anything of an expert…after all there was a reason he had chosen this job over others. The largest reason being he couldn't stand most people. _

_Everyone lied, everyone cheated…and everyone died. It was the manner of how it happened, and what you did while you were alive that left an impact on the world as a whole. _

* * *

He was sleeping by the time Sara had left the room. It was a deep, restful sleep that was seemingly inspired simply by his grandparents being there. The reunion, though happy in nature, had only brought about a heavier heart filled with sorrow. It was painful to see him break down so easily when he had put forth such an unrelenting front before. Now it was easy to see that he was taking comfort from them, seeking whatever he could to fill the empty void that was inside him. As calming as it was, it was also painful.

Sara would be the last to admit it, but she knew that a form of jealousy had begun to brew inside of her. In the time that Greg was gone she had grown to miss him beyond what any words could say. The time spent between his return and now had been filled with silly hopes that she could somehow comfort him, and that in turn he would open up to her. Always trying to fix what was broken, always trying to right the wrong. It was a good motive, so why then did she feel so ill when she was unable to accomplish it?

The question could most likely be answered in the fact that she was seeking it more for her own sake than for his. That alone made her selfish, wanting the feeling of being needed to course through her. But it was a feeling she could not dismiss no matter how selfish it seemed. That was why she needed to leave the moment his parents arrived. She couldn't stand to see it happen again, didn't want to watch the scene unfold before eyes yet a second time. Did that make her even worse of a person?

She wanted to feel, wanted to embrace the emotions with her heart rather than stand by and witness it all like a forgotten shadow; someone who was there but you never really thought of. Yet every time she had tried to honestly connect with Greg something had been stopping her, something deep down inside of her that would twist into knots, causing her to feel like a fool. She felt as awkward now as she had back in school, like an outcast wandering the halls in search of something that was better, yet snubbing a nose at whatever would come along. Foolish dreams…foolish hopes. She had chased enough of those in her past; when was she going to learn how to stop?

She let out a sigh as she sat, not even knowing really where she was aside from the hospital itself. She had wandered in a dreamlike state concealed in a foggy haze for too long to mark all of her turns. Sara realized then that things would be so much easier if only her expectations weren't so high. How much could she expect out of one person? True, this person had once been her friend, yet now he was a complete stranger, shying away from those who were only trying to help him. She knew the others would tell her that she was being ridiculous. They would tell her to give him time, and rightly so. The shock in his system would still be abundant after such a long time of absence; but if that was so why would he open up to them instead of her?

Family…unconditional love. Something she never experienced, something Sara doubted she would ever understand. His family would love him no matter what, and Greg had no reason to fear disappointing them. Everyone else were just figures in his life, someone that he had once talked to, people he had once joked with. That time was long gone, and though the explanation made sense in her mind it didn't help in encouraging her to believe it.

She and the others had all been with Greg through times that were good and bad. They had spent long nights working on hard and difficult cases, and they had their shares of instances where their best colors had not shown through. In the end everything had always been forgiven and forgotten as they all moved forward in life. And through everyone on the team, Greg had grown the most under their watchful eyes, and the truth was that he had been closer to them all than anyone had realized.

Surely Greg knew that, surely he understood that he had been family, and that there wasn't anything for him to prove. No one on the nightshift had spoken ill of him, no one had turned down a chance to help him out since his return. How could she convince him of this, what words could she say to him to let him know he wasn't alone?

The same ones she could say to herself for she was no longer alone. The realization didn't hit her until he was sitting; then again maybe it was what he wanted. The older man looked worn and exhausted, as though he hadn't slept for days. It hadn't been that long, but the events surely made it feel as such. Travel too could twist time around your senses, making you believe one thing rather than another. Yet it was the smallest of things that could tax a parent, and this happening here wouldn't be classified as small.

Aaron rubbed his temples briefly before dropping his head into his hands with a sigh. The silence between them was awkward, and Sara knew he was on the verge of trying to find something to say, but unable to find the words. Instead she filled in the gap herself with the question that was nagging at her mind.

"Why aren't you with him?"

It was a cold, callous and even cruel question perhaps. The same could be asked of her, for she had left some time before for reasons she couldn't handle. Sara felt guilty for asking the question that she could answer herself, but it seemed as though the filter that connected her brain to her mouth was refusing to work.

He didn't seem offended by the question, however; instead he simply shook his head, dropping his hands to his knees. "I've never handled things like this very well. Lena, she was always the strong one," his voiced faded for a moment and he shook his head again.

"When you said it was bad, I didn't think…I never imagined it would be like this. I mean…even the last time we were here; when he was still in the lab."

Sara nodded, knowing what he was trying to say. The comparison was hard to do, but Greg had been a lot better off after the lab explosion than he was now. She had been thinking it, as had Nick for he had spoken the same words earlier. It was a topic that she would rightly guess was on everyone's minds, but one that was hush-hush; always there but never spoken of. And they all had secrets that the others did not dare to breathe unless it was important to the topic at hand.

"He's still sleeping?"

The question was more for both of their sakes than actual inquisition. It was more important to dwell on the future steps than the ones taken in the past. The man nodded, clearing his throat.

"He woke for a while, but he's so tired…and so weak."

That he was; Sara had questioned herself time and time again why Greg hadn't simply collapsed. Maybe it was because he was stronger than they believed him to be. She hoped that the cause was that; it gave her the briefest of hopes to think that it was.

"What's going to happen? From here, I mean?"

She was confused, but only at first. When she understood he was referring to the case all she could do was shake her head. "I don't know; I'm not working the case so I don't have the details, and even if I did I wouldn't be able to tell you. The department is keeping a pretty tight grip on this one. They always do, with cases like this."

"Is he going to jail?"

Sara swallowed the painful lump as she turned from him, regaining her composure. He had already been to lock-up, and the chances that he would go back after his trial were certainly not in his favor. But how did you explain that to his family? She had a hard enough time telling complete strangers.

Sara didn't have to answer; she never got the chance. A commotion filled the hallway, doctors and nurses raced by them, sprinting down the hallway. Words were being shouted between all of them, blurs of conversation only be picked up sparingly as they rounded the corner. But the words that were not missed were the numbers, the same room numbers that matched Greg's.

* * *

_**October 17th, 2007**_

_**1:23 pm**_

_She was never the type for fast food. Fast food was as cheap as it was unhealthy. Lena Sanders could tolerate it from time to time but hardly did she ever indulge in it. Her husband Aaron, on the other hand, seemed to devour it as though a child would his candy. It was despicable at the least, but thankfully his behavior was being masked by the others around him. _

_This was the third time they had been out to Vegas concerning their son, and still she had not grown used to the idea of living here comfortably. New York had cities similar to Vegas, but the atmosphere here was so much different. It was almost suffocating. Her son's friends had to be the only reason he had chosen to stay here. _

_Lena had gotten to know them throughout time, had come to respect them for who they were even if she did disagree with their habits. The diner they were at now, for instance, was apparently a favorite of all of them. Cheap, greasy food that was drowned in gravy…it wouldn't be a wonder if her son had simply dropped dead of a heart attack and that was the explanation to his sudden disappearance. _

_The thought was a sullen one that encumbered her mind. Aaron would always tell her she was too harsh on the boy, that she was too strict, so she had lightened up, had let him go. And now he was gone…_

_For the longest of times she was so desperate to blame her husband, to convince herself that fault lay with him. She had sworn long before Greg had even been born that she wouldn't let anything happen to him, the promise that meant the most had been the one that she had failed. _

'_At least he lived a good life.'_

_That was what Aaron had told her one night. For weeks afterwards she couldn't sleep and all food lost its flavor. She had become a zombie, her motives driven by one thing and one thing only. Then that night he had spoken those words, and they rung true in her mind. If she hadn't let Greg go he would still be alive, he would still be home. But he would be miserable. What was life worth living if you dreaded every moment of it?_

_Around her the talk was warm; after all why wouldn't it be? There was a chance her son was still alive. Lena wanted to wish and hope just as much but her heart was still trying to heal from last time. She and her husband had drained their retirement in hopes of finding him. They had gone from one investigator to the next when the first had turned up empty-handed. There was time when enough was enough…as much as she hated to admit it. _

_But she was his mother; she couldn't be the first to give up on him. So she kept to the conversation enough to know what was going on, so she could input her own thoughts and ideas when they would ask her questions. Her smile was forced but no one save Aaron could tell the difference. She took another bite of food, forcing it down as best as she could. Nothing would ever compare to home cooking._

_She needed a distraction; food wasn't doing enough for her. Lena turned her attention to where the others sat. Nick was diagonally across from her, engaged in a conversation with Aaron about football or some other ridiculous sport. Greg's name came up several times, the two men comparing and sharing old memories. Memories that caused her to smile._

_Greg had been into sports, but with the number of kids being injured in school athletics she had said no. It had been a hot issue with her husband, but in the end he had finally relented, and agreed with her. The most sports the two had ever been involved in were the big games on Sundays. She shook her head knowing that even now she would never be able to understand the fascination with sports. _

_The two men were laughing again and she let herself smile. They were going on about the things they would do if Greg was ever found. It was all talk, but she had to wonder. What was the harm in still believing? Perhaps her son was still alive. It was possible he had made some mistakes but she had taught him to own up to them as well. Granted this was a big mistake and it would take more time for him to come to the right decision if that was the case. Still,, she would love him nonetheless._

_The thought remained with her as she glanced up at the brunette who sat across from her. The woman was close to Greg's age, the look on her eyes saying that she too was only half listening to the conversation. Before her sat a salad, almost as untouched as Lena's own dish and it seemed as though it would remain that way. Sara was occupying her free attention by pushing leaves about her plate, one hand supporting her head._

_Though her eyes were distant they would still light up from time to time as the two spoke of Greg. Sometimes she would interject her own story, and it was then that her eyes would match the tone of her voice and throw forth the warmth and the joy she obviously felt as the memory played its course. But the fire would die down shortly after and it made Lena wonder._

_She had felt the same way at one time. She had been younger, of course, much younger, but that didn't diminish the memory in the least. What Lena did remember was the ending result, that those feelings had led her to Aaron, and shortly after the two had been married._

_She waited until Sara spoke again, not speaking until she had finished her story. When she did, Lena had locked her eyes with Sara's, wanting to gauge her reaction. "Were you and Greg…"_

_It was difficult to phrase; surely Greg would have said something about a girlfriend. Yet the wonders of language were clear, and Sara quickly picked up on the intended question. She shook her head, forcing out a simple smile; it was hard to read. _

"_No, we were just friends."_

_The words were discouraging in more than one way. But what hit the hardest was the phrasing. Throughout the night Nick and Aaron had been talking as though Greg was still alive, yet Sara had spoken as though it was a time long ago. Sara had spoken closest to the reality of the situation. It was then Lena realized that it wasn't a matter of when, but if her son returned. Only if…_

**TBC**


	9. Trying Times

**Sorry for the wait!**

**Been between finding and preparing for a new job, and a rather nasty cold that left me in bed for a week, so this is a bit behind.** **Thanks goes out to Kegel for the beta!**

**Thanks to all those who read and reviewed last chapter and I hope to hear from again!**

* * *

**Chapter Nine: Trying Times**

There was a time when she had almost given up hope. Almost; the word was strangely funny in a bitter way. There had been many 'almosts' in her life, many of which she chose not to remember. But neither could she forget them; they would from time to time remind her of what not to do. Just like now.

Part of Lena had always known, somewhere deep inside, that her son was alive. Reason and rationality had told her to believe otherwise, but the mothering instinct refused to give in, refused to believe. How right that instinct had been. The one call that had turned everything upside down had now righted itself back up with another similar call.

Greg had been the only thing on her mind since. It still was, even as she sat beside him now. There had been quiet regrets when she first came in the room; her parents were already there and her husband behind her. Sara, the woman she had met several times before was present in the room as well. They all made way for her, some even leaving the room as she ventured forth. There were quiet whispers, gentle warnings, but she heard none of them.

Though he lay stretched out on the white sheets, the bruises marring his face and the skin pulling dauntingly about every bone the only thing Lena saw was her son. And to her, he was as beautiful as the first time she had ever seen him. His skin was warm to the touch as though he was running a fever, and his eyes had opened at the soothing touch, the gaze questioning but distant as he fought through the impending sleep.

His eyes focused on her, blinking in uncertainty, and it was then Lena could no longer hold it in. She was crying; tears of joy, tears of relief. Her son, her Greg was alive. One hand held his, the other rested on his forehead, fingers brushing through his hair. She wanted to hold him, to lay with him, to be as humanly close to him as it was possible. She never wanted to let him go again. And his voice…

"Mom?"

She hushed him, at the same time hating herself for it. For so long she had waited to hear his voice, and so many questions lingered on her mind. But he was exhausted; she could tell it by the look in his eyes, the expression on his face. The mother in her won over her curiosity; the questions could wait. Whatever the answers were she would accept them, for better or for worse. She knew who her son truly was; whatever he said wouldn't change that fact.

"You came all the way out here?"

The uncertainty in his voice threatened to shatter her heart. Her hold on him only grew tighter as she answered. "I've come before, why wouldn't I now?"

"It's so far…"

Lena smiled; it was a sad empty feeling coursing through her that she could not even express as she quieted him. He was still very much the same boy she remembered, always considered others before himself, sometimes to the point of an unhealthy obsession. "I could travel halfway across the world and it still wouldn't be too far."

She could see him relax, embracing the new knowledge and letting it comfort him. The change could be seen in his eyes, as if he had expected something else, resentment perhaps. There could only be so many reasons to why he would. They were thoughts she didn't want to think. Lena forced another smile letting them drift out of her mind as she turned her attention back to her son. What would happen in the future could wait till they arrived there, but for now she had other priorities.

He was trying to talk again, to fill in the gaps of silence but she quieted him. Enough was enough for one day, rest was what he needed. It didn't take much prompting on her side; Greg was already tired as it was and she had never meant to wake him the first time upon entering.

Asleep, as he was, he appeared to be even more vulnerable. Something you would see in a magazine ad, or a commercial on the television. Someone you would glance at and hurt knowing that you couldn't help in any other way. It was how she felt now. Sitting by him and stroking his hair only gave comfort; if it was more for her than him she couldn't tell. At the same time she couldn't force herself to stop.

She had been away from him before and letting him go had been one of the hardest decisions on her part. But somehow she could understand it. She had left her own parents the first chance she had. It wasn't as though she hated them, or disliked them even. Lena simply wanted to taste freedom, to be on her own and experience life for herself.

Greg had simply wanted the same; she couldn't blame her son for that. But why he had chosen to move clear across the country had baffled her. If it hadn't been for her husband she would have followed. It was sad how he would remind her of the quiet promise she had spoken to her son. When he was younger she had a lot of control in his life, and most of what she did was to keep him safe. Grown now, however, his choices were his own. For the better or worse, and this definitely was for the worse. Lena was now starting to regret that choice.

Yet the past couldn't be changed; she couldn't continue to sit here and blame old mistakes. The focus had to be on the future. The thoughts rested with her as she rested her hand against his forehead. He was still warm to the touch and he had begun to move as though fidgeting. She spoke to him as though he were still a small child. It wasn't as awkward as she imagined it could be. He almost looked small at the moment.

When he was young her voice would have been enough to calm him. Her presence had always been enough to chase away whatever demons threatened to plague him. Those had been simple nightmares; whatever terrors resided with him now were obviously more vibrant and dark in nature. Lena forgot her promise to let him sleep wanting instead to break him free of whatever hold the dreams had him in.

His quiet mutterings had turned into more desperate cries, soft and fast that were all muddled together and barely distinguishable. It was only when he began to push away that she tightened her grip, raising her voice at the same time. Her actions had grabbed someone's attention, but not Greg's. If they were coming to check up on him or simply passing by she would never know, but she was thankful that the nurses were just there. The last thing Lena wanted to do was admit that her son was scaring her, but uttering any other words would have been a simple lie.

Greg had never been a violent man; as a kid growing up he had been reluctant to even set out mice traps during the winter, working instead to devise live traps so that he could capture the unwanted rodents and release them safely in the nearby park. Wherever that boy was she didn't know; what she did know was this man lashing out at those trying to help him was not her son. He wasn't speaking, and even the words that flowed around the room filled with urgent requests failed to calm him as he fought back, his eyes open but seemingly unaware of what was actually happening.

She felt her heart break as she was ushered from the room without as much as a simple protest. Her mind told her that she should allow the staff to do their jobs, but her heart wanted to stay by his side in case these were his last moments. What kind of mother was she to do otherwise? Even with the door closed she could still see the images in her mind, the distress in his eyes and she felt herself shaking from both fear and rage. Not knowing what was happening was fearful, but knowing this was a result of another being was enraging.

Lena lost it then; like a hammer plowing into her chest she could feel it break open, releasing a torrent of tears. What a sight she must have been. Not just for her family and distant friends, but to complete strangers that happened to wander down the hall. Yet it was a hospital for heavens sake. Little more could be expected and if anyone gave her a second glance she never noticed.

Nor did she have to look or ask to whom it was that held her close and though she could not hear the words that were being spoken she knew what they were asking. She also knew that she could not answer them, for the words were playing in her own conscious mind. The questions toying with her as a cat would with a mouse tauntingly close but so far away in resolution. That was the way everything seemed; this entire ordeal, an endless joke that was sick in nature, like a bad dream one would long to wake from but not have the power to do so.

That very question rested on her mind; would she ever wake up from this bad dream?

* * *

He had been born in Michigan in 1969. His father had died when he was twelve, leaving him to be raised by his mother who worked full time in a mental hospital. Darren Mathews graduated High School twelfth in his class of over two hundred, a fair feat in all itself. He had gone to Berkley in New York, majoring in Criminal Law. His stats there weren't as impressive as his high school's, but then there was a lot more competition. Even still, Mathews spent five years after college working as a janitor in a police station in Jersey before becoming a rookie on the police force. Sometimes a degree didn't get you all that far when the opportunity didn't present itself to you.

That wasn't much of a point though, Brass realized. He had dug up as much information as he could about Ecklie's new right hand man, but virtually he was left empty-handed. The detective could tell you anything, and perhaps everything pertaining to Darren Mathews, but it wouldn't help him with the problem he still had. Brass had no idea if Mathews was with them, or against them. He had no idea if this spelled trouble for Greg, or if secretly the man was rooting for the ex-CSI.

Then again why would he? The question was a mockery in itself, taunting him as Grissom came in without so much as a knock or introduction. He seemed to do that a lot, even more so as of late. Brass didn't blame him, and he only shook his head as the other man sat down.

"I can give you numbers and figures and stats," Brass told him calmly, waving a hand. "It won't do much good. I think Mathews is as slimy as he appears. This could spell real trouble for Sanders, you know that."

"He isn't our only concern. Sara just called from the hospital; there's some issues going on there."

"Well, you didn't expect things to be a walk in the park, did you know?" Brass wondered, leaning back in his chair. He had seen many things in his lifetime, and was sure Grissom had seen all the more. Seeing it, and being a part of it, were two different things. Certainly the other man understood that.

Grissom was rubbing his temples; fighting off another migraine. They got bad when he was stressed, and they all had been that these last few days. Stressed, and sick to the stomach. Brass couldn't even remember the last time he had eaten a decent meal. Good for losing weight; bad for keeping up any sort of strength. Sleeping; now that was a whole other matter.

"Greg attacked several of the staff; physically lashed out at them. They're not allowing anyone in to see him at the moment. Sara believes he wasn't…coherent at the time that it happened."

"How bad?"

Grissom shook his head, "I don't know how aggressive he became, but it was enough they had to sedate and restrain him. Sara's trying to work something out with his doctor, but either way it doesn't look good."

"I'm sure our friend Mathews has already heard of this then?"

"If he hasn't, he will. I don't know if it will be held against him in court with this case, but it's possible the judge will bring it up. It shows a level of violence that none of us can physically argue against."

"Greg wasn't in the correct frame of mind; drug abuse, withdrawals, torture and recent kidnapping; that can make anyone crazy," Brass pointed out. This alone would be a hard fight; Greg needed all the help he could get.

"We haven't proven that yet," Grissom reminded him. "Warrick and Nick are still going over old evidence, but we're still missing key points. There's another scene out there somewhere, a location somewhere. There has to be; a place where his kidnapper restrained him. Greg wouldn't stay voluntarily."

"Unless it was his choice; you know that's what any judge would say."

Grissom nodded. "That's why we have to find it. We need to talk to Greg again, get something out of him. We can't do that when we can't even get into his room."

"He's not talking anyway," Brass shrugged his shoulders. "He had more than enough chances. You can't just keep bringing him back in hopes that he'll finally cave in and give you what he wants."

"We need to build trust," the other man explained. "Give him reason to not fear us, make him understand we're trying to help."

He wanted to laugh at the statement. It seemed so absurd. "Why wouldn't he trust us already? I'll admit, I'm not his best friend, and there've been times when I've been harder on him than I probably should have been. But between you and me, I've never kidnapped him and tortured him. Technically I rescued him, I'm a savor in a sense."

"Technically you arrested him."

Brass shrugged, smiling a notch though the joke itself was in bad taste. "I had to do my job; otherwise I'd be in a similar position as he is. Well, as far as the side of the law is concerned, not so much physically."

"We're both doing what we can. There's still more to do," Grissom mused.

"You'll let me know if anything changes?"

He was curious as much as he was concerned. Sara wasn't working on the case, but he had a feeling the woman would still pull through in proving Greg wasn't responsible for these latest actions. At least that was the hope he was clinging to. If Greg had intentionally attacked someone, it could read ill for this case and his situation in more than one way. The thought alone was disturbing, but it was there still, and it only blossomed in his mind when he was left to his own devices.

He needed a distraction, something real and tangible that wouldn't allow his mind to wander. Heading home was out of the question because only an empty house would be waiting for him. Brass sat for a moment longer, fingers tapping on Mathew's file before him. It was then he decided that past information wasn't going to give him what he wanted. He realized then that he needed to go to the source. And that was exactly what he was going to do.

* * *

It was frustrating in an irritating way. She knew the procedure, understood it, and even vouched for it. Sara had been in enough hospitals, had collected enough evidence from victims and suspects to know that this was what happened in such cases. But this time it was different; didn't they understand that?

She had explained it to them, she had pleaded and begged. The story alone had been difficult to get. Filtered and broken pieces from Lena; irate and shocked bits from the nurses who came staggering out of his room and the last fillers from Greg's doctor himself after emerging nearly an hour later.

Dr. Lance hadn't stayed around to hear her out either. Sara spent the better part of the next hour running him down once it was apparent Greg's room had been marked off limits. Visiting hours were now over so the chances she would get back in were slim; but at the very least she might be able to convince the doctor to let his family back in. She could only imagine the fear that could be plaguing the man as it was.

Terrified, sedated, and restrained, alone in a room with perhaps only the foggiest of ideas of where he actually was. That alone was enough to drive anyone to the brink of insanity, but for Greg it had to be ten times worse. That was why she needed to talk to Lance, to convince him that this wouldn't work, that it couldn't. He had always seemed to be a reasonable man before.

The only time Sara spent going off in a different direction was to speak with Grissom. She had promised to keep him and the others informed. There wasn't time to call everyone in her phone book, but she knew the scientist would spread the word.

Aaron had stayed with Lena outside of Greg's room. Nana and Olaf stayed only long enough to hear the story. If they were tired from the journey and the stress, or if they simply needed a break, she couldn't tell. They had departed shortly before her phone call with Grissom ended, leaving promises to return in the morning. It was perhaps for the best. There was little more they could do here, and at the rate Lena was going the woman wouldn't let anyone near Greg once she was allowed back in the room. A mother's love, fierce and unquestioned. Yet another thing Sara had never experienced.

That would have to be dwelt on later. It was increasingly irritating how such petty things kept interfering with what she wanted to be a true meaning. Sara wanted to help Greg in any way that she could. If that was for him, or for herself, she still wasn't quite sure. Though she couldn't help wondering if it made any difference in the end. The same result was still achieved, and if they both benefited from it in the end what harm could come of it?

She could ask that question of herself for a thousand times and the answer wouldn't be any clearer than the muddled mess it was now. It felt wrong as it felt selfish, but Sara couldn't change the way she thought or the feelings that clouded her judgment. That judgment now was an angry disposition, a mixture of fear and pain over what had happened, and the possible reasonings behind why it had happened.

It was an hour and thirteen minutes she had spent waiting outside of his office. That was an hour and thirteen minutes after the hour and four minutes he had spent inside of Greg's room. In total that was two hours and seventeen minutes. Entirely too long for her taste in waiting for an answer.

"I have other responsibilities, as you might know," Lance warned her as he approached.

Honestly she didn't care. He wasn't as warm and polite as he had been with her before. Sara was on her feet following him without an invitation; part of her believed that he wouldn't let her in unless she forced her way. Lucky for her the man had to maintain some level of profession. He was a prominent figure in the eye of the public, carrying with him certain obligations. That played in her favor, and Sara wouldn't forget it any time soon.

"He's in a fragile state right now." There was no gain in battering about familiarities. Lance obviously knew why she was here. The sooner things were fixed, the better things would be. Granted she couldn't fix what already had been done, but at the very least she could better them.

"Miss Sidle, we have a procedure to follow , it is hospital policy. It doesn't matter who he is, or the fact he has ties in the police department. You have no right to threaten us with legal action, so do us both a favor and do not bring it up in this conversation," he pointed out, pulling a book from the shelf as he sat down.

"There are other patients here that require my time and attention, and several of my nurses have expressed deep concern over treating Mr. Sanders with his latest outburst. My first concern is their safety. Consider yourself lucky that I am making it my responsibility to continue seeing to his treatment."

"It is your responsibility," Sara frowned. This was not the way she had planned this discussion. It had thrown her off kilter, she would be the first to admit. Yet she wasn't willing to lose this argument, at least not without a fight. "You know him, maybe not on an intimate level, but well enough to know he's not violent."

"Violence is only an action," Lance pointed out, glancing her way. "Many factors contribute to that. I'm not a physiologist, but I've had enough patients to know that trauma and stress change who they are as people. Sometimes it is intentional, many times it is not. What I can tell you is that Mr. Sanders' display of…energy was about as aggressive as it becomes. On the fact that he is considered a criminal the full precaution is necessary."

"He has an entire cocktail of drugs running through his system. The last thing he needs are more drugs….the Las Vegas Crime Lab believes that he was held captive. How would restraining him under heavy sedation help calm him? Seems like to me it would make things worse."

"It is our responsibility here to maintain his physical state of wellbeing. Not his mental state. We cannot coddle any patient because of that factor, I'm sorry. After seventy-two hours he will be reassessed and if determined to be well enough to control his actions the restraints will be removed."

"You don't care enough about his mental state, but you feel that you are qualified to judge him mentally?"

The statement alone shocked her. Sara hadn't been expecting the man to be a best bud, but she had at least expected him to at least try to care.

"I've placed him under suicide watch; another protocol as many aggressive patients usually try to inflict self harm. A psychologist will be here to evaluate him. He or she will also spend a short counseling sessions with him, perhaps it will give him a first step towards recovery. Until then there is nothing that I can do."

"Nothing that you will do," Sara corrected him, shaking her head. "You expect him to be alone for the next three days, locked up and drugged to the point he can't even tell what's going on? How is that even humane?"

"The drugs will wear off soon enough; more will be given to him only if deemed appropriate for his own safety, but the restraints will remain on. Until then only immediate family will be allowed in the room starting in the morning. I want him to get his rest for the night."

"He will rest," Sara agreed, "but less if he's alone. I know him…not as well as I probably should…but he's probably scared right now. Isolating him isn't going to help him heal any faster. It causes…depression for starters. A lot more…I just can't think of them right now."

Lance let out a sigh, shaking his head. "Miss Sidle…if I give in now what else will I have to give in? The first hours are the most critical; we have our reasonings."

"And if he is sedated as heavily as you claim he won't notice the difference, will he?"

"If he won't notice the difference then the truth of the matter is that it really doesn't matter if there are visitors tonight, or in the morning."

"Maybe not now," Sara agreed. "But he will notice in the morning when he comes out of this drug induced haze and finds himself alone, trapped as another prisoner without knowing why."

The man rubbed his face, shaking his head as he muttered into his hands. "If we make a compromise, will you allow me to continue my work?"

Sara couldn't help but smile. She hadn't interfered with his work, so there was no reason for him to try an attempt to bribe her other than the fact that he wanted to help without making it seem as though he was going on a limb for her.

"What's the compromise?"

**TBC**


	10. Coming Realizations

**Thanks goes out to Kegel for the beta, and to all who reviewed :)**

* * *

**Chapter Ten: Coming Realizations**

Going home had been a hard thing to do. An empty apartment in the midst of the day was an unwelcoming feature. Every fiber in her body screamed at her that it was wrong, and it took every ounce of control to acknowledge what she was doing was for the best.

The 'compromise' had been anything but. It helped out Greg in the end, helped out his parents, but for Sara it was as though she had obtained the short end of the stick. Or more of the fact she had been beaten with it. Immediate family had been allowed in the room, and that was all who would be allowed within the following days. Dr. Lance had made it clear that she needed to head home. For her sake, for the doctor's, or for Greg's…the man wouldn't say.

Why had she agreed? Because otherwise Lance would have followed the original procedure. Sara could never do that to Lena, could never keep her away from her son at a time like this through selfishness. Once the seventy-two hour period passed then Sara was welcome to return given the prospect that Greg was declared 'sane' enough to have visitors outside of family.

The notion came to her shortly after the last musing. Sara half-heartedly wondered if it would be better for Greg to be declared insane in the long run. It would keep him out of jail for the time being, the case would come to a halt…but in the end the man would have to stay committed for life. If he ever did recover, the case and trial would resume. The thought alone was overwhelming, and Sara wasted no time in filling that void with a drink.

She didn't drink as heavily as she once used to. Therapy had changed that, but secretly Sara still craved the intoxicating feel. It was a position, a level of awareness or the lack of it that made it all the worth-while. The hangovers that followed were beyond horrendous, but Sara would welcome an endless supply of alcohol at the moment to chase it away forever.

There was so much confusion in her life at the moment, and inside the thought of her selfish nature made her feel guilty. Greg was a friend…a coworker, someone she simply knew. She wasn't his family, and they hadn't had a time when they had been intimate. Her therapist would tell her that she was too attached, always seeking what she could never have. The whispering voice inside her mind only added to the sorrow that was building up inside of her.

Would she be acting this way if it were anyone else? Sara closed her eyes as she reclined on the couch, the bottle still cold in her hand. What if it were it Nick, or Warrick, or Grissom even? Would she worry then as much as she was worrying now?

Of course…the first thought that sprung into her mind seemed too cheery, too domineering to be true. It was as though she wanted so desperately to believe it to be true that it played over and over in her mind. Each time a different thought crept into her mind, the first badgered it out like a hammer plowing a nail. It was in her nature to worry, in her nature to care, and want to help out those she considered close enough to be family.

But had she ever considered that of Greg before? The times they had spent together, there had been so many, and yet so very few instances lingered on the fringes of her mind. He had asked her out…how many times before? More than once, but those hadn't been true efforts. It had been a game, and it had always been amusing the way he would try and weasel a date out of her.

Sadly enough, Sara still couldn't figure out why she had turned him down. Greg had everything in him that a regular gentleman would have, but more. He was charming for starters, always trying to find a way to make her smile. And somehow he managed, even on the days when she felt so worn that the energy needed to smile was obsolete. Not only was he charming, but his first concerns always seemed to be about her, even when he himself seemed to be knocking at death's door.

To be fair, she had once asked him out as well. It had been under the guise of a celebration, acknowledging his achievement of his movement in the job. He had wanted that promotion more than anything, and it was reasonable to assume he would take to such an outing. But so absorbed in the work he hadn't heard her, of if he had, he hadn't paid any heed. Had it been on a romantic impulse?

Sara wanted to say yes, but wasn't sure if she was saying it because it was true, or simply because she wanted so much for it to be true. If it had been true then it was all the more reason to justify her feelings. This way she didn't feel so guilty for wanting to be a part of his recovery, and wanting to be near him. But she could remember that night, could remember that she went home, that she didn't cry over the strange rejection. In fact, she hadn't thought anything of it, not until this very moment.

So the question remained, why now, why this, and why him? She hadn't been that close to Nick, after his recovery and close calls. She hadn't felt any sort of…need. Why was Greg any different? The thought built up slowly, like a rising wall of water threatening to break through a dam. Inside she felt cold, but her skin was clammy like a fever that was ravaging her body. Or maybe it was just the alcohol playing tricks on her mind.

She had been in love before…at least that was what she convinced herself. First it had been flings in college; those never lasted long. Then it had been Hank…that could hardly even be called a relationship. There was, as it always had been, Grissom in the back of her mind. The truth…she was enamored by him. He represented everything she never had, and so in the end she wanted to be as close as it was humanly possible.

Relationships didn't work one way…she had expressed her love to him once. She had been drunk at the time. Grissom hadn't responded in a positive manner. He had sent her to therapy. It didn't fix things; it only patched it up with tape. The problem with that was that it eventually wore off and left behind a sticky residue you could never get rid of.

She couldn't go back down that road again, couldn't stand the humiliation that followed. Couldn't take the rejection she knew that would come. For a time, Sara had convinced herself there was no such thing as love. She still wanted to believe it now. It was too fickle of a thing. People killed in the name of love, killed for love, and killed because they never were loved. It was better just to do without.

So she convinced herself that this odd feeling brewing in her chest was just an infatuation. There were no indications of it being anything more. If it had been true, if it was true now, then she would have tried harder in the past. She would have met him halfway. Instead she had ignored him, had left him standing always in her shadow. That was not love, nor was it anything that resembled friendship. They were…acquaintances, coworkers. The two one would normally see chatting idly to pass the time.

While she told herself this, the feeling didn't change. It stayed the same, burning fiercely inside her chest almost as if she had indigestion. Even if she could somehow convince herself that she was in love…how would she ever explain it to the others? How could she tell someone who would not even look her in the eye that she loved him…that she _in_ love with him?

Even worse…how would she explain to his parents that she had fallen in love with their son?

* * *

"_I have a problem."_

_It was amusing the way he had said it, provoking him to respond in the only way he knew how. "You 'are' a problem."_

_The look that was given was one of mild amusement, but more of irritation as the man sat down across from him. He had grown, that much was for certain. When Nick had first met him he had been a young and slightly reckless young man. But he was smart, had always been that way, and throughout the years he had only increased his intellectual ability. Part of that was intimidating, but it was inspiring as well. Given he stayed on the same track, he could very well surpass many of the others in his field. It was a prime promise for a promotion._

"_I'm serious," Greg continued, acting as though his response hadn't affected him in the slightest. "I had this crazy notion the other day."_

"_Do you ever have an idea that isn't crazy?"_

_There was a pause, only the slightest of ones as the man seemed to consider it, but there was sarcastic mirth in his eyes as he shook his head in response. "I haven't been able to sleep, I haven't been able to think, or focus…"_

"_Then it's comforting to know that you are the one working on a double homicide," Nick responded. He wondered mildly if this matter should be taken to Grissom or not, but knowing Greg he had a feeling that a silly impulse was the factor behind everything. _

"_This isn't about work," the man confessed, drawing a breath shortly after. "Well, not really, I suppose one could say it was, but honestly I don't like to mix my professional and personal life."_

"_You have a personal life?"_

_He frowned at that, letting out a groan. "You know, for a friend, you really aren't all that supportive. Or helpful."_

_It caused Nick to laugh as he smiled at the other's irritation. "What is it? You lose another bet to Warrick? Did Hodges do something that left you unable to return comeback? Grissom steal the rest of your coffee?"_

"_He won't find my coffee," Greg waved a hand hurriedly. "Found the perfect hiding spot, somewhere he'll never think to look. That's beside the point; this is a matter of life and death."_

"_You joined a cult."_

_Nick had to admit that it was always amusing to toy with the man in this manner. The look of shock that crossed his face was priceless in the least, even if it only took a few mere seconds for Greg to realize what he had said. _

_  
"One that sucks blood," he verified sarcastically. "We sup on a variety of people, but particularly as of late we have turned our taste to Texans who like country music. I was curious if you wanted to join."_

"_I'm on a diet, sorry," he expressed his concern mockingly, laughing as the other man grumbled. "What is bothering you?"_

"_If I were to ask you out, how would you prefer it done? Would you want to know it's a date, or would rather go with thinking it's just hanging out?"_

_The question was confusing, to be sure, leaving him speechless for a several seconds. "Are…you asking me out?"_

"_Well yes…and no…" he confessed, "Not you in particular, but I was thinking…this Friday, we could…do something…you can bring along that one girl you're seeing…"_

"_Who is she, Greg?"_

_He had known the man long enough to know his ploys and tricks, and they never seemed to end. Nick was certain that Greg spent hours dwelling on new and outlandish ways of attempting to explain something._

"_No one in particular," the man answered with a shrug, brushing it off as though it was of little importance. _

"_It has to be," he pointed out, "You don't act like this if it is no one."_

"_I can't tell you."_

"_You want me and Melissa to double date with you and someone else, but you can't tell me who it is?"_

"_It's a bit personal," Greg confessed._

"_If it was personal you wouldn't have brought it up in the first place," Nick pointed out. _

"_You promise you won't laugh?"_

"_As long as you're not dating one of your vic's from your 419 I'm okay with it."_

_This led Greg to sigh, prompting Nick to wonder if perhaps Greg really was considering seeing someone from the current case. The sudden realization prompted him to ready a lecture just in case this turned out to be true._

"_I was thinking of asking Sara."_

"_Our Sara?"_

"_No, my cousin Sara from Norway," he replied, rolling his eyes. "Of course our Sara; do you happen to know any other Saras around here?"_

_It was true, he didn't. Yet he was not sure if the man had happened across another woman by the same name that had been involved in the case. Greg had only started working on solo cases a few months ago and Nick knew how very easily it was to become caught up with a suspect in a case. Even more so if they happened to be women…some could be frighteningly seductive and misleading. _

_The revelation of who Greg was concerned with was both amusing and comforting. Comforting because it only reinforced the notion in Nick's head that Greg knew what he was doing, but amusing simply because Greg had attempted this before, only to be brushed off in the end. He didn't want to discourage the man from what he wanted, but neither did he wish to see his friend heartbroken in the end. The only problem was trying to find a way to explain it to him tactfully._

"_You think I'm crazy."_

"_You are crazy," Nick corrected him, "but for other reasons than this."_

"_So you think I have a chance?"_

_This was when he needed to tread tactfully. "What do you think?"_

"_I think I'll feel a lot better going in a group," Greg confessed._

"_In other words you want to tell Sara I want to date Melissa, and that I'm forcing you to come because I'm nervous?"_

"_If you wouldn't mind," he nodded eagerly. "She wouldn't pass up an opportunity to help out a friend."_

"_Maybe not," Nick agreed, "but then you wouldn't actually be dating her, you do realize that, don't you?"_

"_It would be a start."_

_He let out a sigh, shrugging his shoulders. "I don't know if it would work. Sara knows I've been seeing someone and Melissa really isn't into the whole group thing."_

"_I'll tell Sara she's someone new," Greg pointed out, "and then you tell Melissa that she would be helping you help out a friend. Womean love doing that sort of thing."_

"_How would you know? You've been on what, zero dates?"_

"_I've read about it. You can say that I'm sort of a ladies' man."_

"_If that was true then you could ask Sara out on a date yourself, and she would say yes."_

"_Alright, maybe I pushed the whole 'ladies' man' routine a bit too far. Come on man…I really like her and I want to give it a try. You owe me one anyway."_

"_Owe you one? Says who?"_

"_I can't remember right now," Greg shrugged, toying with a pencil he had found on the tabletop. "But I'm sure you do, and even if you don't, I'm sure I'll do something in the future that will pay you back for it."_

"_Fine, Friday night we'll go to that little Italian place by the Tropicana. I'll come up with something to convince Melissa to play along, for your sake, but if you go overboard about what you tell Sara this will be the last time I do this. I'm not getting into one huge lie because you're too afraid to ask her out yourself."_

_The smile said it all, the hope in his eyes was clear as he said his thank-you's, bounding out of the room in new spirits. At the time Nick had been worried about what would happen, how things would work out in the end. Trusting Greg to keep things subtle was worrisome enough. He would have to have faith that the younger man would keep things simple, otherwise the coming Friday would be an interesting ordeal. _

_He never found out…_

That was the saddest part; Nick remembered that day well enough. The memory was as cold as it was charming. It had been on a Sunday that the conversation ensued… Greg had disappeared that following Tuesday. He hadn't even had the chance to talk to Sara about the upcoming weekend event. For a time Nick couldn't tell if that was good or bad, until it came to his realization that it was a ridiculous and gut-wrenching notion to think of in the first place.

It was because of what happened that the matter never came to light. Nick had broken up with Melissa only a month later, most of the fault residing with him simply due to the level of stress he had endured. He didn't blame her; those following weeks the Texan had practically lived at work, refusing to sleep or eat until he crumbled from hunger and exhaustion. That was when he had slept only to start the entire process over once more. No one wanted to live with that, and for Nick, he was content. The man was almost convinced that no one would understand him.

That thought wasn't as nerving as Nick believed it would be. For now, he was content with the way his life was going. After all he had his health, his freedom, and his life; that was more than what Greg had. Earlier he had dropped off Greg's parents, apologizing for his quick departure, but he was needed back at the lab. For what he could only imagine.

Thankfully it hadn't been anything of alarm, but neither had it been anything that lightened the heart or soul. Nick had hoped a clue or piece of evidence had turned up to exclude Greg from these crimes for which he was being held responsible. But there was nothing…no new evidence, no new clues…just a lot of work which had to be done. Cases had been stock-piling the last few days since all of this came to light, and the day shift were too far behind to keep up.

Given the choice to travel out, or to stay in and work on evidence already there, Nick chose the latter of the two. Mundane work was more of his preference, allowing his mind to work in several ways as he busied himself about the lab. The memory that had played earlier in his thoughts had only opened a scar deep inside. Whatever words and jests they had exchanged that day most likely would never repeat themselves, and that knowledge stung like the ferocity of a wasp.

What use was it, he had to wonder, to be in such a state? Alive in a physical sense, but dead to all emotions save for fear and pain? Was there any difference for someone in a coma, or dead by every mean save for the machine that pumped air into their lungs? Even that seemed to be merciful compared to what Greg was enduring. At least then there were no emotions, no realization of what was going on around you, and at the same time no one could charge a dead man.

The thoughts drew him back to a case, one that he had worked years ago. He was still a rookie then, working under Grissom's watchful eye and competing with Warrick as he always seemed to do. He had been assigned a 419…that wasn't quite a 419, simply because the victim hadn't died. For everything inside of him, Nick couldn't explain why the case bothered him so.

Death didn't bother him; not in a sense that it bothered others. There was always remorse for the loss of a life, and the tale that followed that spoke of the person's life and their last moments was equally unnerving. At least in death the victim didn't show emotion, they didn't feel the emotion.

The victim in this case had been a young girl, in her early teens. With a round of bullets lodged in her chest she had given into the coming light…only to fight her way back moments later. By some miracle, she hung on. Miracle…or curse, depending on how you saw it. The rest of her family had been murdered in the same way, the killer had been the young girl's closest friend. Jealously had run amok between the two over one thing or another, and both had reverted to childish ploys. The friend, however, had used violent methods along with her immature retaliation.

Several long minutes without air had left her handicapped, and the damage from the bullets had taken away her ability to move, and further damage had left many scars that couldn't even be seen on the outside. Partway through the case Nick had found himself in discussion with her, fumbling around her words as she tried to communicate. The only words he could clearly remember to this day still chilled him to the bone.

What was the point of living, if you had no life to live?

Living was more than just breathing; for something to be alive all it needed was the ability to function and grow. Yet Nick believed that was just simply surviving. Even when one lay dying, their hearts beating and their lungs drawing air…they were still alive…they were surviving. But you couldn't necessarily call that life. Life was something greater than that…something so great that it couldn't even be described in words.

The thoughts surrounded him for the remainder of the day, refusing to leave even though he attempted to banish them. It left him to wonder if Greg was truly lucky, or horrendously cursed to survive through such an ordeal. Blessed, or cursed, he couldn't say; but what he wanted to believe, and felt that he could believe, was that once Greg was finished surviving…he could finally live once more.

**TBC**


	11. Moving Forward

Thanks goes out to those who reviewed, and to Kegel for betaing. Sorry for the long wait, a bit of a longer chapter to make up for it.

* * *

**Chapter Eleven: Moving Forward**

He wasn't sure why it had taken him so long to come. Part of it he liked to believe was due to the fact they were more strangers than friends. After all, Greg wasn't the first person he would call on a poker night; but that didn't mean he didn't care. That alone was difficult to explain. Warrick had been running it through his head for most of the night, trying to find a way to explain it in simple terms. They weren't buddies, they weren't pals; their wants and interests varying too greatly, halting the motion that could bring them closer together as friends.

Yet simply because they were not friends did not mean he didn't feel for the man. Warrick felt an icy chill that worked its way through his body, the same chill that had been there for the last passing days. Too nervous to eat and sleep it had left him physically drained. He knew the reason why it was so hard for him; any feelings of his own were mimicked in the eyes of the others, only stronger in nature. The entire team was beginning to drift apart.

It could be felt rather than seen; Sara had pulled away from work almost all together. First it had been the case. He understood her reasoning behind that. Emotional as she was it was obvious for anyone to see that she wanted only to comfort him. Other work that was assigned to her was done with little interest, and sometimes not at all. More than once he already covered for her, wanting to spare her from Ecklie's wrath.

The man himself had been on a warpath as of late. Anger from the pressure caused by the media, he scrutinized every aspect of work that was done involving Greg's case. Every thread, every fiber, every silent confession was taken into account and reworked, sometimes three or four times. The process was draining, serving for irritability not only from the investigators, but the lab techs as well. This led to more pressure from the public, demanding justice for their lost husband, or the storekeepers wanting to know who the thieves were that had stole away with the beer.

Nick had been back and forth between emotions. At times he was calm and collected, much like the Texan Warrick knew. Other times, it seemed as though he couldn't even breathe without breaking into a fit of rage or tears. Comments full of harsh and vile words that Warrick was astounded to know the man even knew would often fly from the other man's lips. The same with silent vows that whoever responsible would pay. To Warrick, he had never seen Nick so enraged before.

For Catherine it was difficult to tell. Ever since his marriage she had pulled away, something he both welcomed and regretted. Any feelings between them would never blossom in a positive way; it was a favor they had gone separate ways. Still he missed seeing her, missed being with her. She distanced herself at work naturally, but the times he did manage a glimpse it was clear she was worn and run down, bouncing between cases to help keep up with growing workload.

Grissom was the least changed. The man was as he always was, quiet and reserved, letting only short moments of irritation show through before they disappeared under a surface of murky waters that hid his inner self. There was more to that man than met the eye, Warrick knew. So much that he trusted the scientist to figure things out. To figure out what had happened, and more importantly why it had happened.

He trusted him; trusted him because he didn't trust himself. The fate that laid in wait for Greg was grim; it hardly mattered what way he went, for it seemed to be the lesser of two evils that would become him. Either the beckoning of a cold and bare jail cell awaited him, or a shallow life that would see him wandering about as a blind man. Could he function after all that had happened? How could anyone disappear for such a time, and fully recover?

As grim as they were, Warrick had no control over his thoughts. They ran amok like wild animals, filling the spaces in his brain with one scenario after another, each new one passing being worse than the last. That was where he found himself, at the door of the room that led to where the other man lay. He already had company, his mother as well as Sara. Neither of them being there was a surprise, he reasoned.

They were talking, but whatever words they said held no meaning for him. The wild ideas still clouded his mind even as he gazed in. Sara saw him first, a smile crossing her face as she moved to her feet. As she approached he backed away, giving her space to leave the room.

"You look like you're ready for your own bed."

Her teasing voice caught his attention, stirring curiosity inside of him. Time had passed since he had last heard anything that was in the form of a jest. Warrick tore his gaze from the room, looking to the woman that stood in front of him. "How is he?"

There was a sigh, and then a shrug of her shoulders as her face set into a taunt grimace. "Better…physically a lot better."

"That's…good," he reasoned with a nod, forcing out a heavy breath.

"Hydration, vitamins, some food substance…his body is recovering. He'll talk…at times, but it happens in spurts. Doctors say he'll be ready to leave soon."

Warrick took another long look at the figure inside. While there was color in his cheeks it was faint, his knees drawn up to his chest as he rested on one side. Greg's mother was still sitting tentatively by his side, no doubt in the same manner she had assumed since first coming here. As of now it appeared that the man would not be able to hold his own here. How would he do away from here?

"Where will he stay?"

The thought had just come to him. Greg's apartment, of course, had been packed up and leased to new tenants long ago. Until now it hadn't been an issue, between the man being in custody followed by the hospital he always held a place of residence. Obviously no one would abandon him on the street corner, but Warrick hadn't heard of any arrangements being made.

"Greg will stay with his parents the first few days in the hotel they have. They lose the room at the end of the week, and then they will stay with his grandparents ."

"Greg can't leave city limits," Warrick reminded her, knowing that Greg's grandparents were well out of the city of Vegas.

But she was nodding. "I know. He'll stay with me after that."

"You? You only have a one bedroom apartment."

Again she was nodding, a smile creeping over her face as though she had a secret that was only known to her. Silently she glanced back in the room, the smile lingering before she turned back to him. "Nick has a spare room, but when we talked it over we both decided that Greg would be better off if he stayed with me."

Inside he felt a twinge of guilt. It stemmed from the fact that the others were obviously doing more than he was to comfort the man that had once been a part of their team. It made him cringe, wondering what the others thought of him, his aptitude for avoidance shining clearly like a light in the darkness. What could he do to prove he was in this together with them?

Warrick found himself clearing his throat, his words stuttering as he tried to think of something to say. The words were running through his head, his mind finally processing what she had said. "Why you?"

Out of everyone it could be said that Nick and Greg were the closest of friends. No insult to Sara was meant, but she was a friend to everyone. Someone you knew as an acquaintance, a co-worker. Someone you would feel comfortable grabbing coffee with. She wasn't someone you would think of as being a roommate.

"We both know that Greg's captor was male…being alone in another house with anyone…" she let her sentence trail off, her gaze meeting his as if pleading he understand without her finishing.

"Nick wouldn't hurt Greg."

It was obvious what she was implying, and it set him off. Nick was a close friend, someone he had counted on time and time again. The man had his faults, as did everyone, but causing harm to anyone let alone Greg was ridiculous. It was almost infuriating that Sara would even suggest it.

"We know that," she was agreeing with him however.

Maybe she had seen the change in his demeanor. Warrick let out a sigh, crossing his arms, waiting for her to continue. Sara had paused long enough to gather another deep breath.

"Nick and I agreed that Greg would feel more comfortable, being with someone he felt he could overpower."

"You think he's really violent?"

There was no secret to the incident that had happened only days prior. It had flown about the lab quicker than any round of gossip, and was the leading conversation in every room. Warrick had chosen to believe that it was just a freak accident, that something had startled the man and pushed him into a panic. It had happened to victims before, and adrenaline could do some serious damage. Yet Sara talked about it as though it was a common occurrence, and that she even suspected it to happen again.

"He can't overpower me," she dropped her voice in a whisper, pulling him from the door.

Warrick followed without any reason as to why. Last he had seen, Greg wasn't paying any heed in their direction. Whatever Sara wanted to say was obviously something she wanted kept as a secret.

"He's not strong enough; he barely has the strength to walk right now. The doctor says it will take another few days or even weeks before he does. He was so deprived of everything his body is expending all the energy he has just trying to keep up. I'm in no danger."

"But you think he can be dangerous?"

She hesitated, a frown settling on her face. A moment passed then she shook her head, following with a shrug of her shoulder. "Not intentionally."

"But he can be."

"So what is your answer?" she wondered, accosting him now. "Lock him up, throw away the key? Just forget about him, he's a lost cause? Everyone makes mistakes, Warrick, but Greg needs us now more than ever."

"I wasn't saying that," he shook his head. It wasn't what he meant, but he knew it was how it sounded. It set in deeper his fears that the others thought of him simply as a cold-hearted beast. As someone who did not care. He did care…he just didn't know how to express it.

Again he took a breath, gathering his thoughts in a manner that wouldn't seem hostile when he presented it. "I just don't want you hurt."

"I won't be," she was quick to remind him. "I've taken down suspects twice my size without a weapon. I can handle Greg…I could have handled him before as well. I won't have any problems if something does happen."

He knew it as well; Sara often had the look of innocence, of someone who had no idea of what was going on or how to take care of herself. Yet she was anything but; at time she had made some of the most vile suspects sweat under her questioning glare without even speaking a single word. It meant there was only one thing to do.

Warrick forced a smile, knowing it was grim but hoping it spoke volumes that all between them was well. He didn't want Sara to think they held anything ill between their opinions; what was done was done and he knew that convincing her or Nick to change their minds was something that was inconceivable.

"I don't think there will be any problems."

* * *

_**October 21st, 2007**_

**_11:30 am_**

"_So, what do you remember?"_

_She had been dreading that question all day. For a while there was hope no one would ask, with everyone holding their tongue and the drive being silent. But now they were in open air, the sun glowing in the sky and already warming the ground beneath to sultry temperature. It wasn't as bad as the summer heat, but it could still be unbearable and unforgiving. Catherine took the lead as they moved through the crowded sidewalk, more tourists here now than there were during the warmer months. _

"_You're avoiding the question."_

_Maybe she was; Catherine wouldn't deny that she wasn't. She simply had other things on her mind. Mostly it was on finding ways to not answer the question. Who could blame her though? It wasn't as though she had purposely drunk herself into a stupor a few nights before. Work had been stressful, the required convention was even worse. All she had wanted to do was relax and loosen her tense muscles. Was it her fault she had gone overboard before the evening wore itself down?_

"_Tell me," she finally spoke as she glanced towards him. "What do you remember?"_

_Nick's smile was broad and wide, the one that usually accompanied his face whenever something amused him so. He moved to speak, but failed as another man accosted him, blocking his path and pressing a pamphlet into his waiting hands. It was amusing to hear the Texan attempt to decline the offer, yet the other man was not letting up. Catherine smirked as Nick finally took the pamphlet, pushing his way past and through the crowd to catch up with the waiting blonde._

"_Why does everyone assume we're a married couple?" Nick scoffed as he flashed the paper her way. "Or that we are in need of personal entertainment?"_

_The picture of the young woman posing nearly nude on the front made her smile; it was a memory of times that had already come and gone. Catherine had once been in that position, needing money to help fund her way through school. Exotic dancing was invigorating, but more importantly it paid wonderfully. Yet dancing was all she did; she had drawn the line on personal house calls. More and more woman, however, found the extra mile to be incredible pleasing, in both a financial and emotional sense. _

"_Is that a bad thing?"_

_Nick glared at her as he shoved the pamphlet into his back pocket, avoiding the necessary litter with the lack of garbage cans nearby. "You are still avoiding my question; don't be changing the topic."_

"_I remember the dinner," she told him wryly, grinning in response at his own smile._

"_That was fairly early in the evening…"_

"_I didn't say that was all," she was quick to cut him off. Catherine would hate to admit that she was fully enjoying this. "I remember the speeches."_

"_What ones?" he questioned, "I know you were gone by the time Grissom did his."_

"_Grissom did a speech?" _

_That alone surprised her. The man was not a people person; he avoided gatherings such as the one that took place a few nights before. Even more, he avoided the speeches, taking the first reasonable excuse he could find to escape. The year before he had left mumbling something about his cockroach having a fever. _

"_Ecklie said if he didn't do the speech this year then all of us would be suffering from it. Warrick and I were able to convince him to go through with it."_

"_You wrote his speech," she commented dryly._

"_Had to," Nick shrugged his shoulders, "you were laughing too hard to even concentrate."_

_Catherine pursed her lips as she came to a stop before the crosswalk. She disliked the notion that Nick was referring to her as a happy drunk, but then again he wasn't the first one to approach her with this matter. Apparently she was the talk of the lab; everyone enjoyed her ordeal save for herself. The headache and flu-like symptoms she had to nurse the following day were anything but pleasant. _

"_At least you didn't make a complete fool of yourself," he was quick to reassure her which nearly brought a laugh from her lips. A complete fool…_

"_I'm better off not knowing, and pretending nothing happened," she sheltered her eyes from the sun with her hand, peering ahead of her. "There's another one up here."_

_They had spent the better part of the morning roaming the Strip and surrounding areas, stopping by several of the smaller shops that catered to tourists in search of a quick drink or snack. This would mark their sixth one, and Catherine paused long enough to fish out the plastic bag that was folded in her pocket. It contained perhaps the most vital clue in their on-going case. The engraved bottle-cap._

_It was made from a thin metal that was easily pliable, making it a poor choice for any real cap. This turned out to be quite helpful; it matched none of the major brands of drinkable items and for the small tourists shops it was clear that the lid itself was unique. For the drinks that were homemade, soda and beer alike, a tougher metal was used with glass bottles, and even those were hard to find. Glass broke far too easily and created a mess the city disliked since most people didn't bother with making their way to a garbage can. _

_There was a crowd for how small the store was, but it was bearable and with little effort Catherine managed to make it to the front counter. Nick was a bit behind her but she waited till he made it before gathering the store owner's attention. It was protocol to always announce who they were and what department they worked for despite the fact it was embroidered on their vests. Sometimes she hated the policy; people often shied away and clammed up in the presence of authority, especially when they believed one was a cop._

_The man, however, smiled their way, "Welcome, I'd invite you to sit but as you can see there is no room."_

"_No need," Catherine reassured him, placing the bag on the counter. "You recognize this?"_

"_You came to show me one of my bottle caps? I know they're not the greatest, and I have new lids on order for when I make my new batch, but I'm not letting a good beer go to waste. It's expensive; and it's not like they're dangerous; no one's been hurt from them."_

"_Why are you ordering new ones then?" _

_It was Nick who had asked the question, but Catherine was wondering the same. Why was there any need to fix something when it wasn't broken? _

"_Complaints; customers want to recap their bottles. Most of the lids are stretched when pulled off and they can't go back on."_

"_You've been making this for a while?" Nick inquired._

_The man nodded, "A year now…maybe more. The glass bottles are newer, I used to serve fresh here but I don't' have enough room to really invite people to linger. So I made them to go. Plastic first, but then it doesn't taste as fresh. So I moved to glass about half a year ago. I'm still working out some of the kinks. Why does this matter?"_

"_We need to know if you have any regular customers."_

"_All of my customers are regular," he gave them a smile but it disappeared when the pair failed to return it. "I don't take any personal information down, I just sell. I have a guest book in the corner people can sign, but the only people that do that are those passing through."_

_Catherine nodded, understanding the situation. "You see people enough; can you tell us who comes through here often enough?"_

_He seemed to be deep in concentration, his brow furrowing as he did so. "I have a few that stop by several times a week…one gentleman that comes by every day. I could get some names, but it would take me a few days."_

"_Do that," she encouraged him; "we would like to know." She paused here, then flipped the bag so the bottom of the cap could be seen. The small engraving was a jumbled mess, hard to distinguish if it was muddled letters or a poor rendition of a particular symbol or picture. "Any idea what this is?"_

"_Not mine," he shook his head holding out his hands. "Scratching anything there would cause parts of the metal to fall into the beer. I wouldn't risk doing that."_

"_It doesn't look familiar?"_

"_I've never seen it," he confessed._

_She nodded, satisfied then as she turned away motioning for Nick to follow. The man did so without so much as a word, the bright sunlight causing him to blink as he stepped from the store. Catherine had waited till they were outside to say anything, not wishing anyone to overhear._

"_What do you think?"_

_The Texan shrugged his shoulders, letting out a sigh. "He seems honest enough, and he's right about the engraving. He wouldn't risk a health code for a fancy design…or a crappy one for that matter."_

"_We've found three of these so far…almost identical…someone is doing this, someone is trying to tell us something."_

_He agreed, but his face was grim. "Who is it…and what are they trying to say?"_

* * *

On the outside he was a changed person. One would not be able to tell that it was him by merely looking. Even for Sara who had done her best to keep in contact with him, to visit and stay by his side at the hospital had a hard time accepting that fact. Gone were most of the bruises that had decorated his delicate flesh, the muddled patches of grayish-blue markings fading into a warmer skin tone. It had washed away the eerie paleness he had once harbored and even his hair seemed to carry a healthier tone.

But Sara knew that he was far from healthy; and looks could be more than deceiving. Inside Greg was very much the same; hesitant, quiet…withdrawn. A haunted expression had settled deep in his eyes; he was getting better at masking it, but at times it still shown through. He was like a creature of prey, always alert in case the need to run and hide arose. It was a frightening thought, leaving Sara to wonder what it was that he so feared.

The very question had been on her mind for the passing days. It occupied her thoughts as she cleaned her place, readying it for his arrival and stay. It would be cramped for a while and at times Sara found herself questioning her judgment involving this matter. She wasn't much of a cook, nor was she prompt about cleaning or keeping things clean. It would be even harder with another person in the apartment. But she could manage…she had no choice.

Cleaning wasn't the only thing needed; shopping was also a necessity. Greg's doctor had spoken with her, readying her for the trials that had yet to come. He had given her a list of necessary items, as well as the lists for several support groups. Having the extra time off from work had given her the chance to do some research on a few. A couple of the groups she liked from just simple glance while others seemed to be too restrictive and Sara feared that the pressure might turn him away.

Greg's eating was also brought into question. He had barely started eating again, and would forego it altogether if anyone allowed it. The idea was foreign to Sara; food was not a passion of hers but there had been times when the pangs of hunger had nearly driven her to tears during a long and difficult shift. The image of not eating or not even having the desire to eat was painful in itself. Why anyone would chose such a miserable pang so willingly was a mystery to her.

The thought remained with her as she continued to ready her apartment; by the time Greg's parents were leaving, the place didn't even look the same. Her bed had remade with fresh sheets and blankets, a neutral blue in color. The closet had been divided in half and now contained an array of clothing gathered and donated by various members of the teams. Some of the clothing belonged to Nick and Warrick, while Catherine had managed to find some great deals at thrift stores. His parents had also helped. As humorous as it was Sara could easily guess that Greg now had more clothing than she did.

The bathroom was clean and stocked with additional hygienic products and Sara had finally managed to finish washing the rest of her towels and washcloths for the shower. She had even remembered to pull out some combs and a fresh toothbrush for him to use. These living areas were not the only ones to change.

Her kitchen had been transformed; the small table had been cleared of all clutter, allowing room for a couple if not several people to sit down. The cabinets now held a variety of food and the fruit bowls were full. Her fridge even held a bit of meat, the very sight of it making her queasy, but Sara had to remind herself it was for Greg. The only problem came in cooking it…

That would be the hardest adjustment; no more take-out, at least not for a while. Greg's eating needed to be monitored; he needed now more than ever the foods that were healthy and essential in helping his body to recover. It would be a long while before Sara would be able to ease her way out of household responsibilities again. Somehow that notion didn't bother her as much as she suspected it would.

Her mind was on other things. Namely picking Greg up. His parents were leaving the hotel around noon, ready to make the several hour drive to his grandparents until they could find other arrangements closer to Vegas. Continually staying in a hotel was out of the question, the prices alone were unaffordable at best. There was talk about finding an apartment, had even discussed the notion with Sara as well as others from the crime lab, seeking any ideas of suggestions.

Sara had none; she didn't blame them for not wanting to leave their son behind. She felt the same way, wishing to keep as near to him as he possibly could. Greg wasn't even her relation…he was hardly even a friend anymore it seemed. She could only imagine the emotions of finding your own flesh and blood alive after so many months of futile searching. They had spent a lot, perhaps more than they could ever afford. No one would chastise them on their decisions; no one had the heart to.

It was the same way when picking him up; Greg's mother holding him close and fighting back tears. His father was more composed but still clearly wrought with emotion as they said their goodbyes. If they could have taken Greg with them, Sara knew they would already be gone. For a time Lena had nothing else on her mind. It had taken grave consideration and prompting on Sara's part to convince the distraught mother that Greg could not leave the city. Lena would not risk Greg's future through selfish decisions.

Even still, Greg seemed almost…relieved when they left. He never said anything, but the emotion on his face spoke for the words that failed to leave his mouth. Unsettled by the quietness of the drive home Sara tried to fill the empty space with talking before finally turning the radio on. If he listened to or even enjoyed the same music she couldn't tell, but she allowed herself to tolerate it for his case simply in hopes that it would ease his nerves.

He had with him a single small suitcase containing the items he had kept with him while at the hotel with his parents. Though it more in likely wasn't needed he brought it with him. It led Sara to think that perhaps she had gone overboard with arrangements, that perhaps this, all of this, was a silly idea stirring in her head, telling her that it would work.

But if Greg was overwhelmed or disappointed in either way he said nothing. It was almost becoming a trademark for him, the silent and secretive nature, and the foreign look accompanying his face. For Sara it was unnerving; she hated not being able to judge moods or feelings, to not know what the man was thinking. There had been a time when he was easy to read, a time when he had been carefree and outgoing, a friend to them all. That time was long ago, a fact that she had to keep reminding herself of.

Inside, things did not improve. Sara watched as he took in her place, knowing then and there that this was the first time Greg had been here. It was a good thing, she considered, knowing that he would feel no guilt or feel the need to question her on the state it was in now compared to how it was before. Others would, she knew that for sure, and with a little luck she might be able to keep them away. A tinge of embarrassment crept into her cheeks as she thought it over. The more she thought about it, the more ridiculous all of this seemed.

It was as though she was back in High School, chasing a fantasy crush, a dream that could never come real. Yet it was real for Greg, the very man that would have to suffer both through and from her silly whims. Sara took a breath then, vowing to put the thoughts from her mind. Never again would she fall victim to them, wanting instead to help him where it was needed.

"You're welcome to anything here," she found herself saying as Greg sat on the end of the couch. Dressed in blue jeans, a black short sleeve shirt he almost appeared to be the same person she once knew. At her comment he merely glanced her way, a flick of the eyes ever so quickly then it was gone.

"You don't have to do this. I can find somewhere to stay."

"And were would you go?" she wondered, moving to sit opposite of him. The talk wasn't comforting, but at least he was communicating.

"Somewhere," he paused, and then shrugged his shoulders.

"My point exactly," she nodded, "We're trying to help you."

"I know…" his voice was soft then, barely distinguishable, but she could still hear him as he spoke. "I just…I don't want to get anyone involved."

The smile she gave him was grim, but it warmed as she answered.

"We already are."

**TBC**


	12. Clues

**It's been a long long long time since I've updated this; many apologies to any of my readers who might still be with me. I do have intentions on finishing this story. I got sidetracked a little, forgot about it as I was pulled into another fandom. I'm back (hopefully to stay for a while).**

**Many, many, many thanks to Jenny who was amazingly awesome to jump right back in and help me with this story despite it being so long ago. **

**Many more thanks to Kegel for the beta. Any other mistakes found are mine ^_^**

**Leave a review if you're still reading! I'd love to hear thoughts/opinions :)**

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**Chapter 12:Clues**

They were spread out in a row, a line that was even which started from one end of the table and ran nearly three quarters of the way toward the other side. For the most part they were the same size, the standard 8.5 x 11 that had been folded in three parts, all decorated and embellished with different features that were promoting a similar message. Some of these brochures were new; crisp folds and vibrant colors. Others were well worn, crumpled and smudged with dirt from being tracked upon by hundreds if not thousands of feet that had not slowed to take a closer look.

Nick wouldn't blame anyone; there was enough of this advertising via billboards, commercials, internet and local signs that these brochures seemed to be of little more use than adding to landfills as more and more trees were cut down. However it seemed that they worked… once someone had it within their hands they were often intrigued by the near-nude figures on the front, and drawn through the doors of the name printed above.

He glanced up at the sound of footsteps, a knowing grin spreading across his face as Catherine came in. Already her face was scrunched up, and she raised a questioning glare his way. "Do I even want to know where you've been?"

Why was it that no one appreciated the smell of a hard day's work? Okay, so maybe the smell of fresh curdling garbage couldn't be respected all that much; further more Nick was curious to what he looked like. Smelling like this was bad enough, but he hadn't any time to catch a shower. The idea that had crept into his mind had been too overpowering to ignore it or even rest for a short moment.

"Take a look at these," he waved her over, his gaze fixated back on the brochures in front of him.

"You do know the lab won't support your fetishes," Catherine asked, her smile lighting up at the irritated glance he shot her way.

"I've been climbing through dumpsters, and combing the city for the last four hours to find all of these; the least you can do is humor me."

He didn't wait for a response, merely tracing his finger above the table in the air, pausing at each one for only a moment. Most of these first ones he crossed were the worst; torn, tattered and water-worn, pictures and lettering merging into one bland color. "Look familiar?"

"The victims," she let out a sigh. "Not surprising; they were all dancers at one point. We knew the killer's motive a while back."

He liked how she had said 'killer'. There was no doubt that Greg was somehow involved, but Catherine, like the others all still held the belief someone else was main suspect. Nick wetted his lips, and drew the woman's attention back to the brochures. "They're all from the same place."

"No they're not," she gave him a sad smile, as if knowing he wanted it to be true. "That was one of the first things we looked into months ago."

"We looked at names," he gave her an even larger smile.

"And places; five different establishments, Nick; four different locations. You can't connect what doesn't go together."

"They were different business; different managers….but the same owner," he agreed. He tapped on the brochures, in the bottom corner. "Look familiar?"

He saw her lean close, her eyes scrunching up as she gazed at the design that was nearly hidden beneath a layer of dirt. With a thumb she wiped it away, frowning as she studied it. "Is that…DB? None of our suspects have those initials."

"Not yet," he was smiling still, resembling a young child who had just accomplished a trying feat. He grasped the envelope near him, pulling free several papers and placing them on the table. None of these were the original copies, but they weren't needed. Photocopies served just as well, and were easier to obtain than the hassle of signing evidence in and out.

She wasn't convinced, not even with all the evidence in front of her. "It's a stretch, Nicky. We never established exactly what these meant," her hand lingered on one of the photos. The close-up of the etched bottle caps didn't make the lines any clearer. They were still scratches in the metal, hard to distinguish. But upon closer examination, it almost looked liked a pair of letters…

"Curves are hard to etch unless you have the proper tools, which more in likely he did not."

"They should at least be distinguishable," she countered him.

"What if he didn't have the time?" Nick pressed, letting out a sigh. "Greg was trying to tell us something, we know that by the fingerprints we found on the caps. He was leaving us a message. I think this may be it. Think about it. What are the chances that all our victims were once dancers, performing in clubs that are, or were, at one time owned by the same person?"

"Circumstance," she pointed out, leaning against the table. "It's not unheard of for someone to own more than one club in this line of business. You see it quite often in fact."

He knew this, and gave a nod to show that he understood. "Yes, but there must be what, hundreds of club owners within the state? How many in Vegas alone?"

"You know the DA will never accept that. We need solid proof. We need for Greg to tell us."

"It's not his job to tell us," Nick shook his head, "it's our job to find out what happened. Trust me on this. If I'm wrong, then all that we've done is waste of an hour out of our day. But if I'm right…"

There were many thoughts that he held, some of which he couldn't even believe his mind could muster. But they were all real, and they were all there. He knew Catherine shared the same thoughts, he could see it in her eyes. Now he just needed her to believe. The markings, he was sure of it, was a jumbled combination of a badly skewed initials. Or maybe he was simply hoping for too much. Not everything had questions that were easily answered. But he needed to know.

Catherine seemed unsure at first, as though unwilling to give into such easy hope as he had. Then she nodded, having come to a decision.

"What did you find out?"

* * *

_**October 24, 2007**_

_**7:28 pm**_

_It felt all too familiar. That they had the smallest glimmer of hope, the faintest trace that proved he was…no, not necessarily alive. Grissom knew better than anyone to suspect that much. Hair, after all, was easily transferable, portable, and easy to plant anywhere. It was the same killer; that was without doubt. Even without tangible proof they could guess as much. It was the same manner of death, the same kind of target; another previous dancer. Yet this time they had even less to go off of then they had the last one. The scene, the body had been well combed over. There was no trace, no transfer and no blood. The victim's fingernails had been cleaned, the wound cleaned, and the clothing looked as though it had been brushed with a lint roller. Which made the hair follicle all the more important. Why had it been left behind?_

_It was perhaps, as Brass had once suggested, a taunt from their killer. The man, whoever was responsible, had killed Greg, had done away with him, and now was taunting them for their failure. And it wasn't the only one._

_He could see the knowledge on the other's faces. They knew even before he said it what was to happen. It had been a week. A week of dead ends. Another week in which they had acquired nothing save for another body, and cesspool of questions that seemed as though they would never be answered. Even the link they had found, the strange insignia, had led them nowhere. They all felt it; the small piece of evidence was being left behind on purpose, in order to tell them something. But what? _

_For a time Nick had been adamant they were on to something. They had found a location which manufactured those lids, but after days of struggle, the simple list given to them of what was to be regular customers, had gotten them nowhere. They simply did not have enough information, and even if they did, it was too far a stretch to bring someone in for questioning simply because they had purchased a drink from a Vegas store sometime during the last few months. _

_Grissom knew it was coming to this. He just hadn't wanted to admit it to himself. It was easier to believe that it was simply false hopes. Greg, he suspected, had been killed that same day he had gone out to that scene. That was why they couldn't find him. Grissom took that thought lightly as he walked to the front of the room, setting the case files down on the table. It wasn't Greg's, but another, a new 419 that had come in, not to mention a few B&E's that would be straightforward. _

"_When did they make the call?"_

_It was Catherine who had asked. But they all knew, so there was no point in trying to deny it. If a case went nowhere, they had no choice. _

"_Yesterday; it was advised that it was for the best," came his simple answer. He didn't want to go into further detail. It was easier this way, to simply forget. So he picked up the first case, adjusting his glasses, and began the staff meeting for that night. _

_He hated pretending as though nothing had happened. Yet there was nothing they could do. So why then, did he feel so terrible?_

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It was awkward. Of course, she hadn't expected it be anything else, but it felt more awkward than she had first imagined. Greg was ever his quiet self, Sara talking almost one-sided to fill in the empty silence. Her voice sounded so odd to her ears, and more than once she almost believed she was talking to herself. She might as well have been. Greg had hardly anything to contribute to the meaningless conversation, and but for the fact he was sitting, rather than lying down, she might have even believed he had fallen asleep. It was possible he might even do so, when taking a closer look at him.

Despite the rest he had gotten at the hospital, and the fact he had done nothing more strenuous than a walk up the stairs, he looked exhausted. His face was drawn, and though there was more color there than before, he still looked oddly pale. He had, until this moment, been staring off into the distance, not really focusing on anything. It was then he seemed to realize she had stopped talking, and was in front of him, and feebly he raised his gaze to meet her eyes. Sara gave him a sympathetic smile.

"I suppose you'll get tired of listening to me." Sara had figured he hadn't listened to a word. So it was a surprise when he shook his head.

"No," he muttered quietly, almost too quiet for her to hear. He raised his voice as he continued, his next words easier to hear, though much more hesitant than what was said first. "It's…nice…comforting. I haven't…it's been a long time…since I've been able to say that."

This time she did not smile. The mere confession nearly broke her heart, threatened altogether to seize her throat in a tight grip that would not let go. Somehow she managed a breath, and turned away in order to regain some composure. She was supposed to be the strong one here. She needed to be strong for the both of them.

When she turned back, Greg was once again staring ahead, drifting off once more. He looked ready to collapse where he was, despite the fact he was already sitting. He needed rest. She reached out to touch his shoulder, in order to get his attention, but stopped as he stiffened, and pulled away.

If he hadn't been paying attention before, he was now. His eyes wide, clearly focused on her, his entire body tense as his gaze flicked from her face, to where her hand had halted in her motions. Sara curled her fingers into a fist, before pulling back slowly, realizing her mistake just then.

"I'm sorry."

He still did not take well to being approached, to being touched. The only one who had gotten remotely close to him aside from Brass during the arrest had been his family. Nick had managed to get fairly close once, but it had been by force. Greg had not acted well to that approach either. She watched a small shudder pass through his frame as he turned away, plagued obviously by recollections he was having.

It made her ill, almost physically so, to witness it all. There was no way for her to guess what might have transpired in his absence, but Sara could see that it had it been nothing short of Hell, and part of her was glad she did not know. She could not even begin to imagine trying to understand it all.

"I can't help it," he whispered suddenly, Sara taking a moment to realize he was trying to apologize for his reaction. She found herself shaking her head, already knowing that much was true.

"I know; no one blames you, Greg."

She watched him, hoping that he would understand this. It was difficult to tell. He was shaking slightly now, but that was nothing uncommon. More often than not he shook consistently as of late. From the lack of drugs, what horrors his memory contained, or the simple fact his body was almost completely drained was anyone's guess. Sara was still waiting for Greg to collapse, for his body to simply give out under all the strain, and half feared that might actually happen. Another ill thought; to have him come all this way, simply to die from everything he had endured in the past.

"We should…you should get some rest," Sara continued when the silence began to stretch. "I'll show you where you're sleeping."

She started for the bedroom, stopping when Greg didn't follow at first. Had he even heard her? Sara was about to call out to him again, when he finally did move. He followed, if a little hesitantly, into the bedroom. Sara turned the light on as they went, turning towards the closet first.

"Everyone pitched in to get you some stuff to wear," she began, hand lingering on some of the clothes that were hanging there. "They might be too big…but it'll be okay for right now. I don't know what you like to sleep in, but you're welcome to look through here, find something and you can change in the bathroom…"

She had turned as she was talking, wondering if Greg was paying attention, or simply just listening to the sound of her voice. Her words fell silent though as she saw him, unable to continue when she saw the scene before her. The bed she had made up was nothing exuberant. In fact it was quite plain, with a few pillows, a simple bedspread. But she had forgotten about the last detail.

Greg had not, however. He stood, silent and still, staring before he moved. His movements were slow, but steady as he reached out, hands curling around the small bear that sat propped against the pillows. For a moment he held it out in front of him, studying it. Then Greg brought it close to his chest, wrapping his arms around the stuffed toy, his head coming to a rest on top of it.

Sara felt her throat tighten again, the same familiar feeling that she was going to lose it all once more. She watched, amazed at the amount of tenderness Greg displayed in embracing the teddy bear. As though it was an old friend he had lost long ago. He held it for a few more seconds, before pulling back, fingers brushing back the worn patches of fading fur.

"His name's Cody," Greg was explaining softly, "I never thought I'd…where did you find him?"

"Your parents. They gave him to me, when…" she came to a pause, unsure of how to answer. She couldn't remember quite when they had cleaned out his place. That had happened so long ago, so long now it seemed more a dream than a memory. She decided it was better not to explain, and instead admitted what was on her mind just then.

"I always hoped I could give him back to you one day."

She was surprised to see him smile. It was the first time she had seen him smile since they had found him. The first time he had expressed anything from his catatonic state other than fear. It was such a small thing, but it meant everything to her. It meant there was progress, meant that there was hope.

"Thank you."

His voice was still soft, but not as tense, and Sara found herself smiling in return. And for the first time, Sara felt that maybe, maybe things would be alright.

**TBC**


	13. Revelations

**Thanks goes to Kegel for the beta**

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**Chapter 13**

It hadn't taken them long to secure a lead. Catherine still wasn't sure about everything, but Nick seemed to have enough confidence for the both of them. He had taken the time to explain what he had found, and then they had gone to Brass.

He too, had been skeptical about the flimsy lead, but had gone along with it because it was their only one. While Nick had showered, he had spent some time digging up the necessary information, and a few hours later, they found themselves here. The Sunset Retirement Community, a nursing home that was about 15 miles south of the lab.

This was what made things seem even more ridiculous. Nick had matched the initials of 'DB' to a Dawson Byrd, a man who had at one time or another owned all of the clubs that their victims had once worked at. It was a connection, she had to admit, but once they had learned exactly who Dawson Byrd was, the skepticism sank back in.

"Welcome to Sunset Retirment, I'm Meg; are you here for a visit?" a tall, blonde woman greeted them as they walked through the doors.

Catherine returned her smile, pulling off her sunglasses and setting them on her head. It was well into their second shift, nearly halfway through the day. At this rate, she would be lucky to get a few hours of sleep before coming back into work tonight. And she hadn't seen Lindsey for almost three days now. Her daughter was old enough to take care of herself, Catherine knew. But it didn't make her miss her any less.

"Actually, we were wondering if a Mr. Byrd was here?" Nick took over the conversation.

They had barely talked on the drive out, and Catherine suspected some of that was due to disappointment. After all, how likely was it that a seventy-year-old was responsible not only for the murders, but for Greg's condition as well?

Catherine knew they could not dismiss anyone simply by age alone. There had been more than one case where the supposedly old and frail person had been the one guilty.

"Dawson?" she seemed surprise. "Are you friends? He normally doesn't get visitors aside from his daughter…"

"We're actually from the crime lab," Catherine pulled out her ID, explaining when she saw the concern on her face. "We're just here to ask him a few questions, if that's alright."

"Is he in some sort of trouble? Or is it his daughter? Did something happen to her?"

"We just need to ask a few questions," Nick repeated, then hesitated. "Of course, you could be of some help, too, if you're willing to answer a few questions for us."

"I guess…" Meg seemed to hesitate, as if unsure. "I don't…I'm not being recorded or anything, am I? I just… Dawson's a sweetheart, I wouldn't want to accidently say something to get him into trouble."

"We just need to know of his whereabouts for this past year; according to records he's been here since '05; is that right?"

"I think he came late in the year," she agreed, "I started that winter, and they told me he was a new resident. Why?"

"You said his daughter comes to visit… how often would you say? And does Mr. Byrd ever leave?"

"Leave? No," she shook her head. "I mean, he goes outside with one of our staff members for walks; he can't push himself around very well anymore, but that's usually just around the block, and sometimes not even that far. They're gone maybe twenty minutes."

"Does anyone else aside from his daughter come to visit him?"

She shook her head. "He's lucky just to have his daughter come. Most of our residents don't have family, or if they do, they don't care enough to come by."

Catherine nodded, understanding that statement. Too often people would send off their family to a home like this, and go about their lives without another thought. It was sad, depressing even, but a true fact.

"You said he can't push himself around very well anymore; what do you mean by that exactly?" Nick wondered.

"He's in wheelchair," Meg explained. "He could walk some when I first started here, but eventually wound up in one of those. A shame, too; his daughter has enough money that she could get him a decent chair, one that is motorized. Instead she comes by every few weeks, brings him a box of chocolate, talks with him for an hour, and leaves. Even more a shame, because half those businesses are technically his."

"Businesses?" Catherine already knew what businesses she was talking about; but they only knew of the ones Dawson owned. What did she mean by the other half?

"He used to own a few clubs, that were famous way back when," Meg waved a hand, letting out a laugh. "Wanted to be a dancer once, but my parents nearly had a heart attack when I told them. Went into medicine instead; you can see how far that got me. Anyways, the story goes he split the clubs up when he got older. Gave some to his daughter, and some to his son-"

"He has a son?" This was a new piece of information. Brass had already told them about the daughter, so it was of no surprise. But he had said nothing about a son; either it was something that was overlooked or...

"Had," Meg corrected, frowning a little. "Parted on bad terms, and then later was killed in a car accident. That was a few years back; his daughter took charge of the remaining clubs. That all happened before Dawson came here, of course. Poor guy hasn't had it easy."

Catherine nodded loosely. Brass had read them the file before they had come out here. Dawson Byrd had been fairly successful in his business, but over time he had lost one club after another, scrambling frantically to cover his losses. His wife, it seemed, had divorced him long ago, and after that, Dawson had been picked up for numerous counts of DUI's and harassment charges from his employees.

That, of course, hadn't helped business at all. All the charges had been made anonymously, so there was no telling if any of their victims had been the ones to complain. But it was possible, which made Dawson Byrd a good suspect; until they had ran into a fairly solid alibi, and the fact that their person of interest happened to be a seventy-year-old who was wheelchair-bound.

She glanced at Nick, and could tell he was thinking the same. They had run into another dead end. She was about to suggest to the man to leave; but Nick stepped forward instead.

"We'd still like to talk with him, if that's okay?"

Meg nodded, forcing a fake smile. It was easy to see she wasn't pleased, but she wasn't resisting either. Catherine let out a sigh, and followed them past the desk and into the rooms beyond. Maybe they would learn something of use, but more and more she was beginning to suspect that this was nothing more than a wild goose chase.

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_**December 19**__**th**__**, 2007**_

_**8:15 pm**_

_He hadn't been answering his phone. This was the time of the year he hated the most. Funny, since it was supposed to be the happiest time of the year. It wasn't that he didn't want to be with his family; rather more that he couldn't be with them. _

_Nick's parents had always been supportive of him. They had never questioned his decisions in leaving Texas behind, and heading to Las Vegas. In fact they were thrilled to learn of his job, to hear of his promotions. Of course Nick might have over exaggerated everything, just as he had made a point to downplay things that had not gone so well. Most of it had worked, until he had been kidnapped that was._

_That was what made things all the worse. When the phone rang again he simply shut it off. Later he would call them back, when he had come up with some sort of excuse to give them. It was just too difficult to travel all the way to Texas in order to spend Christmas with them. It was too hard, for the crime lab was always busy despite the time of the year. In fact, holidays seemed to bring out the worst in people, and the crime lab was busier than normal. It was hard enough when they were fully staffed, and since days had been helping to cover until adequate help could be found, everyone on the night shift was pulling long shifts. It was just too hard to go all that way, and try and pretend to be happy for other people's sake. _

_Yet it wasn't just the work that was bothering him. People said the firsts were always the hardest. Thanksgiving had already proven that, despite the fact the shift had merely sent for take-out from a Chinese restaurant that had been nearby. _

_Even before Greg had moved into the field, he had always joined in on the occasion. And why would he not? All of them saw him, and carried conversations with him on a consistent basis when he worked in the DNA lab. Perhaps more so than they did with each other, because DNA was one area so necessary to their investigations. Furthermore, Greg was likeable, had always been, and no one had qualms in inviting him to the makeshift banquet held in honor of the holiday. _

_But this time there had been no Greg. And now, with Christmas steadily approaching, the thought returned and with a vengeance. Christmas was never any more extravagant than Thanksgiving was. They would pool their money, choose a restaurant, and even exchange some gifts in a Secret Santa. _

_This year it had not been brought up. Everyone was still recovering from what had taken place a few months back. Try as he might, Nick could still not come to convince himself that finding Greg's DNA at the scene was merely a coincidence. Nor could he imagine that the killer was taunting them. Why, if that part was true, would he choose to do it in such a way? Surely if the killer had no qualms in taking a life, or several in this case, then the killer had no qualms in leaving a more graphic, and noticeable clue to taunt them with. _

_Nick believed strongly that they had found Greg's DNA there simply because the man 'had' been there to begin with. It meant that he was alive. But if he was, if he had been there, then where was he now? And if he had not come forward after all this time, did it mean that he truly was the killer?_

_Nick refused to believe that. He and Greg had been fast friends, way back when they had started working together. He knew Greg, probably better than anyone else at the lab. This was not something that Greg would do. It was something he couldn't do. But the other alternatives were becoming scary to even consider. _

_That was the thought with him as he pulled into the parking garage. It didn't take him long to find a spot, and head on inside. He knew it was going to be busy; it always was at this time of the year. If it wasn't some crazed shopper starting a fight for a toy, or a B&E looking for some fast cash, it was something else. Still, Nick hadn't expected it to be this busy._

_Catherine was the first to find him, a look of mild irritation on her face as she walked up to him. "We've been trying to reach you."_

_Nick fished his phone from his pocket, switching it on to see that most of the calls had indeed come from work. He hadn't bothered to check ID when it started to ring off the hook, not after his parents had called that morning. _

"_Sorry, I must have turned it off while I was sleeping," he covered, not wanting to go into detail why he had actually done so. "What's going on?"_

"_We found another body."_

_

* * *

_

She found it difficult to believe that he was already awake. Greg had hardly slept, and Sara was certain she hadn't slept at all. It had been hard to even try; Sara was worried of what might happen if she did fall asleep. It wasn't that she was afraid of him, more rather afraid of what he might do.

There were thoughts, silly as though they might be, that Greg might try and leave on his own. Each time she found herself drifting, the image would enter her mind, and Sara would find herself sneaking to where the room was, to help ensure he was still there. They hadn't come all this way simply to lose him again.

After the first hour, she had started to calm down. Greg was in what seemed like a deep sleep, and Sara doubted he would go anywhere, that he could go anywhere, given his state. So she had relented, had finally given into sleep herself. That was when the screaming began.

One moment she had almost drifted off. The next moment she had been up, clutching the couch that was serving as her bed as she tried to figure out what had woken her. Then the cries had started, and no longer did she have to wonder.

Waking him had been difficult. Sara wasn't sure if touching him was the best of ideas. She hadn't seen how violent he had become in the hospital, but it had been enough to frighten his mother, and enough for hospital staff to deem him dangerous. But she couldn't just leave him to terrors that had taken over him either.

Sara had settled for sitting on the edge of the bed, calling out to him, hoping to break through whatever nightmare had a hold of him. It worked. A few minutes, and his thrashing had calmed, his body worn out from the invisible fight. It was when he was lying there, panting heavily, eyes barely focused, that he seemed to first hear her.

The tension had left him, his breathing had evened out as the tremors started once more. Sara had stayed with him, had talked to him until he had fallen back asleep. But only minutes had gone by before it had started once again. It was no wonder Greg looked so worn if this was how a regular night of rest went. Finally, after they both had had enough, they had given up trying to get any rest.

For Sara, it was too strenuous. She wanted for him to sleep, wanted for him to get better, but how could he? There was nothing she could do to drive away the demons that plagued him. Nor could she force him to face them; it sounded horrifying simply to listen to. They would try again later…maybe he would be better then. Maybe…he just had to be.

Instead of rest, Sara had decided to focus on another problem. One of many, that was. She glanced up from where she stood in the kitchen, watching Greg who was sitting on the couch. Sara had taken the time to clean up the blankets; she hadn't wanted Greg to feel as though he was ousting her from her room. That was the last thing she wanted…

The television was on, but Sara could tell he wasn't paying any attention. Part of her wondered what exactly was on his mind. Were his waking thoughts as dark as his nightmares were? She desperately hoped that it wasn't so. How could he stand it if they were?

Turning, she pushed the loose strands of hair behind her ear as she finished dishing up the rest of the plate. It hardly seemed like enough. Sara herself had never been a big eater, preferring smaller meals throughout the day compared to stuffing herself full at one time. What was before her now might be enough to satisfy her for a short time, but she knew it wouldn't be enough for Greg. At least, at one time, it wouldn't have been.

She had spoken with Greg's parents over the phone in the past few days, before Greg had come here to stay. His eating hadn't improved much; he'd take a few bites when prompted, but showed no interest in any real eating. Sara had trouble imaging that; as thin as Greg appeared she could imagine that he was starving. And unless they got him to eat…

She set the plate on the table, forcing the thought from her mind. That was not something she wanted to dwell on. They had him home, and she was determined not to lose him that easily. Sara cleared her voice, hoping to catch his attention.

"Greg? I've made some food, come and eat."

Sara was sure that alone wouldn't be enough to cause him to come running. So it was no surprise to see that he stayed where he was. Sara lingered by the table, waiting for a few minutes before calling to him again. This time, he responded..

"I'm not hungry."

"You need to eat," Sara pressed him, coming into the living room. She could remember what Lena had told her, what the doctors had said too. That he wouldn't want to eat, but that they couldn't let up. If they started to give in now, then it was a lost cause.

Greg hadn't met her gaze, and hadn't responded to her last comment. Sara moved closer to him, crouching so that she was nearly eye level with him. She felt unsure of what to do exactly. Part of her felt that she could spend the entire night badgering him to eat, but that alone would not be enough to accomplish anything. And if he wouldn't eat on his own…it wasn't like she could simply force-feed him. How that would turn out she could only imagine, and the visions were not comforting. No; somehow she had to convince him that he needed to do this on his own.

"A few years back, my drinking got out of control," she started slowly, almost embarrassed to bring this fact up. She still had a beer now and then, or something a little fancier for a special occasion, but it had been a long time since she had last been drunk.

"It didn't start that way; I'd go home after shift, have a beer to unwind…things were fine. And then one day, one beer wasn't enough. Then two, and three…I don't even remember how many I would have at times. Pretty soon, I didn't even realize that I was getting drunk…it just was something that happened."

The worst had been the night she had been pulled over. Had it not been for Grissom, then Sara could imagine she would have lost her job, and most likely everything else. She had been at a very unstable point in her life, and it was because of Grissom that she had been able to recover. Greg had the same opportunity here; Sara knew it was different, more severe, but he could recover with help. Couldn't he?

She looked up to find Greg watching her, meeting his gaze briefly. He was the first to turn away, and Sara took a breath, trying to figure out a way to point out what she was getting at.

"You think you're not hungry because you've gotten used to not eating. Just like I got used to drinking all the time. You can change that, but you have to be willing to try. It won't change overnight, it didn't with me. But the sooner you start, the sooner it will be over."

She said it with more conviction than what she actually felt. Sara knew comparing her struggles with Greg's was unfair by every standard; Greg was dealing with something more severe. Still, it was all she had to offer, and she hoped that it would be enough.

**TBC**


	14. Tools

**Thanks goes to Kegel for the beta**

**If you're reading let me know! Feedback is what encourages me to write :)**

* * *

**Chapter 14: Tools**

The ride back to the lab seemed even longer than the ride out to Sunset Retirement had been. Nick wasn't sure why he was disappointed; it wasn't as though he had expected to find the answer there. They had spent nearly a year searching for answers, and all they had ended up was with more questions. If they hadn't been able to answer them back then, why then would they now?

It was a burst of hope that had been quickly killed. There was little more they learned from Dawson Byrd in the interview; the only surviving family the man had was his daughter. Nick had hopes that maybe Dawson's own son might have a clue to their case, but he claimed that his son had died a couple of years back just like the receptionist had said. Whatever Greg had been trying to tell them with the mysterious 'DB', this was not it.

Once back at the lab, Nick and Catherine had parted ways. There was another 419 that had come in, but Nick had turned down the offer to run with it. While there was little more to do with Greg's case, Nick still did not want to focus on something else. Instead, he turned toward interrogation, a different thought in his mind.

Sara glanced his way as he came up. He didn't need to ask what was going on, knowing already that everyone's focus was on the current case at hand. It was no surprise that it was Greg in the room. Nick could see Grissom in there alongside Warrick; Greg was sitting opposite of them. His lawyer, Denise Feldman, was near his side. Nick briefly caught part of their conversation, but was distracted as Sara began to speak.

"What did you find out?"

He shook his head in response. "Dawson isn't our lead."

"Based on what?"

"Solid alibi, for starters," Nick stated. Brass would double-check to make certain, but Nick already had a feeling that it would hold. "Even if he didn't have the alibi, he lacks the physical ability to accomplish much of anything."

"Disabled?" Sara wondered, raising an eyebrow.

"Old," Nick shot back with a look of his own. "He's had to have someone care for him for the past five years now. He's not our guy."

The thought wasn't encouraging. They were quickly running out of options. Not that they had very many to start out with. Yet he didn't want to think of that, not now. Nick turned his thoughts to another matter.

"What about here? Has he said anything?"

Sara shook her head, something that he already was expecting. "His lawyer is encouraging him to not say anything."

Nick nodded, understanding. "At this point, the DA only has him for tampering with the scenes. If he says anything that suggests otherwise, it can be used against him. She's just doing her job."

"I know," Sara agreed. "Though I doubt she has to do much encouraging. Greg still won't say a word."

"I thought he was getting better with that?" Nick wondered, curious now. Last he had been told, Greg would attempt to carry a conversation if one was persistent. Had that too gone away, just like their only lead?

"Oh, he'll talk," Sara turned to look at him. "Just not about the case, not about what happened, where's he's been, what he's done, what's going to happen, or what his nightmares are about-"

"Nightmares?"

Nick had tried not to think much about that. He himself had nightmares still after his own kidnapping. As bad as his own were, he could only imagine what Greg must endure. Surely they were far, far worse.

"Terrible ones," she murmured quietly, confirming his suspicion. She turned back to watch the interview once more. "He can't sleep."

"I'd believe it," Nick shook his head, watching the interview take place. It had been a little over a week now since Greg had first been brought in. While he looked better than he had that night, he still looked awful.

Most of the bruises that had once adorned his body could no longer be seen. There was more color to him now than there had been before, and the tremors that had seemed to be constant had stilled to almost nothing. While that was good, he still appeared to be exhausted. And he was still thin, much too thin for Nick's liking.

"Is he eating?"

"He did, a little," Sara confirmed. Her voice was tight, as though she wasn't entirely happy with the answer she gave.

"But not enough?"

"I don't know," she shrugged her shoulders. "Doctors said that his appetite would increase, but even I eat more than he does."

"Do you think," Nick started, stalling as he tried to find the right words as the thought came to him. It wasn't one that was new, rather a reoccurring one since he had last spoken with Warrick.

"I know we've seen some odd cases working here. Do you recall any where the suspect…"

"Harmed themselves?" Sara raised an eyebrow, turning to him. Apparently his confusion was clear, because she explained herself in the next moment. "Yeah, I heard that too. Grissom says it's common with people who feel as though they deserve punishment."

"And?"

She shook her head, lips tight as she answered. "There's no way he would have done this to himself. Even if he did kill Darrison, which I know he didn't…this isn't like him. Greg didn't do this to himself; someone else did."

"Yeah," Nick agreed. There was someone else involved in this. If they could find out who…he rubbed a hand against his forehead. They were running out of time. And nothing was being accomplished by standing here. Turning, he meant to leave, but stopped as Brass came up to the pair.

"Checked out your guy, alibi's been confirmed."

"It was pretty solid," Nick was not surprised by the news.

"I also looked into Dawson Jr, the son. Records confirmed he was killed in a head-on collision almost seven years ago. And there's nothing on his daughter, not even a speeding ticket."

"Evidence suggests a male was involved," Nick pointed out. "We have no reason to suspect his daughter."

"Well, whatever the case, there's nothing on the family. Just coincidence that they owned the clubs."

"It's just strange. You don't see that kind of coincidence; there has to be more behind it," Sara cut in.

Nick would be the first to agree. That was what had led them to look at Dawson Byrd in the first place. But they had found nothing. Sometimes coincidence was all that it was.

"It might seem that way. But it's not our lead; Greg may have not even been responsible for the inscriptions. We only know that he handled them."

* * *

_**December 19**__**th**_

_**9:45 pm**_

_They had already linked the body to the previous ones. The manner of death was the same and it hadn't taken them long to find the bottle cap. It was engraved like the others. Trace had turned up a clear print, one that was quickly matched to Greg. The only evidence that could be found. _

_Like the others, the body had been cleaned. The only DNA they collected was the victim's. It left him curious; he wondered why all of this was being done. Why bother cleaning the victim, only to leave behind trace somewhere else? Warrick turned the cap over in his hands, taking a closer look at the markings that were on the underside. A striking similarity to the others._

_Warrick placed it back down on the table, lining it up with the others. They were almost identical; there was enough variation to show that it wasn't produced in mass, but close enough to suggest the same person had etched it in. _

_Moving to one side he picked up a bag that had been brought in earlier, turning it over and dumping the contents out into a container. The lids scattered over one another into a heap, a makeshift molehill with more lids rolling down to the bottom. _

_They knew now where the caps were from; yet that was of little help. The store sold hundreds if not thousands of the bottles on a weekly basis. Any of the names they had managed to get had brought them no closer to discovering anything. Nick and Catherine had even gone as far as passing Greg's picture around. The store owner had recognized it, but hadn't seen Greg in person. The fact that he had recognized Greg raised no concern as Greg's picture had come up on the news more than once. Rewards were being offered constantly for any information as to Greg's whereabouts. _

_The owner of the store had been compliant, a rarity it seemed nowadays. If they had needed a warrant to search the shop, they wouldn't have gotten it. Speculation alone wasn't enough. Yet it turned out there was no need. The man claimed he had nothing to hide, and even went as far as closing down early to let his place be searched. Something about wanting to help the local law enforcement. _

_Usually that was suspicious on its own. Yet, whatever the case, they had taken the owner up on his offer. Nick and Catherine had to have pulled over a hundred prints alone. There were a few matches for priors, but nothing of interest to the crime lab. And no indication that Greg had been there. In their search, they had come across a box of lids and bottles that the man used to bottle his drinks, and had taken the lids back for comparison. _

_Warrick turned the first lid over, glancing back to the evidence that sat further away. The markings looked almost like two half-circles; it was hard to tell. What he could see, was two straight lines, a few curves…_

_He picked up the first tool at hand, a small metal engraver. If they could find out what tool made the markings, then they might be one step closer to finding out where they were made…and possibly, who made them. _

_

* * *

_

Grissom had to admit that the man looked better. Though there wasn't much relief in that realization. Greg looked worn, and as always, distant. Water had been brought as it had been before, but this time Greg wasn't much interested in it. Of course, Grissom reasoned, Greg was no longer being denied food or water like they suspected he had been before.

He glanced down, pushing his glasses back as they began to slide down his nose. Opening the folder before him he sorted through the various documents, before pulling out a few of the photos.

Already they had been in here for a good ten minutes. Greg had said nothing, hadn't even made eye contact with either him or Warrick. His lawyer, Denise Feldman, had advised him against talking. Usually Grissom despised that line, but now he wasn't quite so sure about it. They needed questions, unable to get any further with what they had now. However, Grissom wasn't sure if he was ready to hear what the younger man had to say even if he was ready to talk.

Carefully Grissom laid the photos on the table, and slid them forward, facing towards Greg. In them were the inscribed bottle caps, most of them containing finger prints. Trace had been able to find and match all of them to Greg.

"Can you tell us about these?"

His voice was gentle, one that he reserved when normally questioning children, or those who were tentative. Greg, he suspected, was no different. He had been through an ordeal, and it wasn't a wonder if trauma was partially responsible for his condition as it was now. Grissom watched as Greg's gaze quickly moved, flicking down the photos, studying them for a moment before looking away. Grissom waited a moment, hoping for a response he knew would never come.

"We think that you wrote these letters. We also think that you were trying to tell us something. Can you tell us what they mean?"

"You have no proof that my client made those," Feldman pointed out, looking at the photos herself. From Greg, there was no comment.

"Our lab shows that Greg handled them. It places him at all the scenes," Warrick pointed out.

"Handled, yes," the lawyer agreed. "He could have handled them a long time ago, could have been collecting bottle caps. Someone swipes that collection, plants them at the scene…"

Grissom wanted to point out that with Greg's disappearance, that collecting bottle caps would be the least of his priorities. Yet he resisted. The point was a valid one. Without any other evidence, they could not place Greg at any of the scenes, save for two. The first, with his disappearance, and then the second, where they had collected actually DNA. In both cases, they had nothing to prove he was responsible for the murders, only evidence he was there.

"We believe they were deliberately planted, by you," Grissom nodded to Greg, ignoring the small details for now. They just needed for him to talk…

He reached over, tracing the letters. "We think they might be letters…a DB, perhaps. Are they initials? Abbreviations for something maybe?"

Greg met his gaze for a moment, looking as though he might say something, but shook his head as he turned away. It was a response, more than he could have hoped for.

"Is that 'no' because that's not what it is, or 'no' because…you don't know?"

"Don't answer that," Feldman gave the warning, holding out a hand.

Grissom was watching him closely, but Greg gave nothing away. The momentarily lapse was now gone, having returned to his former state. Quiet and withdrawn. Grissom let out a sigh, wondering what else they could bring up in hopes of finding an answer.

"I did some comparison tests, to see if we could find out what was used to make those marks. The marks were made with something thin, and dull, most likely. We never did find any blood to indicate you might have cut yourself. Can you tell us what you used? It could help."

Grissom nodded in agreement as Warrick took over. If they knew what tool was used, they could hopefully track it, perhaps find a location. Then maybe they could find some answers. Another stretch, but at this point, everything was a stretch, wasn't it?

"Honestly, I find these questions further and further off the page," Denise Feldman interjected, pushing the pictures away. "If you don't have anything more to ask, then my client and I will be leaving."

Grissom held up a hand as she began to move to her feet. That was a lawyer's job, to keep things as short as possible, to keep them from finding out what they could. The less that was known, the better for the client. The worse it was for them, however. Grissom pulled a few more photos out of the file, and laid them down. These were different, more disturbing than the first.

"These photos here were taking the night of Greg's arrest," Grissom explained, showing where he was looking. Both he and Warrick had been careful about not referring to Greg formally. For whatever reason, hearing his last name frightened him. Greg had gotten better at controlling his response to it, but Grissom could still see how he tensed, even when it was his lawyer that used it.

"The bruising here indicates that he was restrained, most likely on a frequent basis. There is also more evidence that he might have been…abused while he was restrained…" his voice trailed off, watching Greg as he pointed to the rest of the photos that had been taken.

Greg was looking at them, but with a distant look. A moment later he turned away quickly, eyes closed as he wrenched his hands together in a firm hold. It was almost missed, but Grissom could see his hands shaking lightly, before they were thrust under the table, and out of view.

"Can you tell us about this, Greg?" he wondered. "We know someone else was involved. Can you tell us who?"

Greg still had his eyes closed, obviously dealing with unseen demons that were plaguing him. The tremor had dissipated slightly, but was still obvious to the trained eye. He was about to ask again, hoping he could provoke a response, but Feldman beat him to it.

"My client was obviously the victim here. I won't tolerate you badgering him, and-"

"No," Greg cut her off, a surprising feat for he had to raise his voice to drown her out. She must have been as surprised as they were, stopping mid-sentence to look at him.

"What can you tell us?" Grissom was watching him again. Greg had his eyes open, and was shaking his head now.

"Can't."

"Greg; whoever did this to you, he won't hurt you again. We'll keep you safe. But we have to know who it is."

"You don't understand…it's not me," he whispered quietly.

This made him pause, frowning in confusion. It was common for the victim to fear confession because of their tormentor. But what Greg was saying…

"Who is it, Greg? What do you mean?"

Greg shook his head again, turning away as he grimaced. There was silence between them for several long seconds, before he turned back, sucking in a deep breath.

"Can I go?"

There were still questions, many questions, and had this been someone else, they might have continued. But something in Grissom could not ignore the heartfelt plea, and so he nodded. There would be time later, for him to come back in. Now was not the time to press for answers; push too hard, and Grissom knew they might lose everything.

And they had come too far for that.

**TBC**


	15. First Blood

**Thanks for the reviews! Glad to know that someone **_**actually**_** is reading :) Really does give me motivation to write. I'd love to hear thoughts and opinions from anyone who is reading, even if it is just a quick comment!**

**Thanks goes out to Kegel for the beta!**

* * *

**Chapter 15: First Blood**

There was some leftover Chinese food that he had grabbed, sitting at the far end of the couch before digging in. Warrick had missed breakfast earlier, and with a lull in the shift, he took the opportunity to quell the emptiness in his stomach. Nick was in there as well, having giving little more than a weak wave as he had come in. The man looked distant, lost in thought perhaps.

Warrick wouldn't blame him. He had heard about the temporary lead in the case. Warrick would have gone along with Catherine and Nick had Grissom not requested for him to stay and help with the interrogation. To be honest, he had almost turned it down completely. As much as he hated to admit it, Warrick did not want to be around Greg. The man had changed, had changed too much.

It bothered him; bothered him greatly. Never were they friends, but Warrick wouldn't want to see anyone like he had seen Greg. And seeing the evidence before his eyes, to know only on the surface what had happened to the man was disturbing in the least. Even now, sitting here, eating left him to feel guilty. As though he was trying to pretend that everything was okay. That this was simply another case, with someone they didn't know. That it would all go away soon enough.

Warrick knew that wasn't true. It didn't matter how much he tried to pretend, it didn't change the fact that this was closer, and more personal than he wanted to admit.

"What do you think he meant by that?"

Nick's question caught him off guard, in the middle of a bite. Warrick quickly finished the bit of chow mien, carton held under his chin to catch the falling strands, before looking up at him.

"About what?"

"What Greg said," Nick clarified, meeting his gaze. "He's said that before, when Sara and I were taking him to the hospital. He said, 'It's not me'. What does that mean?"

Warrick had already been aware that Nick had listened in on the interrogation. In all honesty, it wouldn't surprise him if half the lab had listened in. Warrick shrugged his shoulders, taking another bite before answering.

"I don't know. It's not exactly like he's giving us a lot to work with."

Nick didn't answer; at least not right away. Warrick had gone back to eating, almost lost back in his thoughts when the man continued.

"What if he's protecting someone?"

"Like who, exactly? The killer? You thinking Stockholm Syndrome?"

Stockholm syndrome was where a victim grew to appreciate their captor, and even sided with them and their causes, however warped they might be. It was common for a victim, even after being freed from the said captor, to continue to express feelings, and defend their actions. That was not something that had yet been considered here, but Warrick suspected it was possible. If Greg was kept under close scrutiny as they suspected, then something akin to Stockholm syndrome would be possible. But Nick shook his head.

"No; Stockholm victims are usually defensive. They'll do anything to keep their kidnapper's safe. Greg seems too timid for that. He's afraid…not stubborn."

"So what then?"

"What if there's someone else he's protecting? Another hostage maybe?"

Warrick frowned, "There's no evidence that there's someone else."

"There's also no evidence of Greg's captor, either," Nick pointed out.

"True," to that Warrick had to agree. "So, say there is someone else. He what, threatens to kill her if Greg says anything?"

"You assume it's a woman?"

Warrick shrugged. "Given the tastes of our killer, he does seem to prefer them. Maybe it's his next victim?"

"Doubtful," Nick shook his head. "All of our victims were reported missing less than 24 hours before their bodies were discovered. And even if he _did_ have his next victim, he's already proven that he will kill. Greg confessing or not wouldn't have any decision in her fate."

"So then who is he protecting?"

"Family, maybe?" Nick offered up. "If I had taken someone hostage, and I wanted to make a statement, keep the victim quiet, I'd threaten to harm the people closest to them."

"Yeah, but we've already checked into that. We found nothing that indicates suspicious activity concerning his parents, or grandparents. And even that's a big stretch. Unless Greg told our killer about his family, which is hard to believe he even would, the guy would have to have some serious detective skills to trace them all the way back to New York. And logically, would pose no threat to them. Greg wouldn't have known they were in town. Any threats the guy would have against Greg's family wouldn't be viable. "

"We knew that," Nick agreed with a shrug. "The question is, did Greg? I mean, if he didn't have any connection to the outside world, would he know any different? Remember when I was taken? My parents flew in from Texas; Greg might have assumed that his parents did the same."

"Right. But he can see for himself that his parents are safe. It's different now."

"Not really; the guy's still out there somewhere. And we don't even have a lead anymore."

Nick had a valid point, but Warrick wasn't sure if he completely agreed. He was about to express his concern, but fell silent as Brass joined them in the room, having caught the last part of what was said.

"I wouldn't exactly say that," the detective looked at Nick. "I thought you might be onto something with that whole DB of yours; Dawson Byrd."

"I thought you confirmed his alibi?" Warrick frowned, skeptical as to what Brass was getting at.

"I did; but I did a little more digging. Got to thinking on how unlikely it was that Greg would know this guy's first and last name. They might have been together for a while, but from my experience, kidnappers usually don't introduce themselves unless they have intentions of killing their captive."

"Because if their victim got away, police would have more than just a sketch," Warrick nodded.

"Exactly," Brass glanced at him briefly, before turning back to Nick who was watching him intently now. "So I figured that it might not be a name; but a place."

"What did you find?"

"Our vics were all dancers once, at a variety of clubs that happen to be started by our former suspect, Dawson Byrd."

"We know that already," Warrick wanted him to get to the point.

"So I did some checking," Brass went on, hardly phased by what he had said. "Our guy was a late bloomer. Seems he opened his first club back in the 70's, when he was in his late 30's. Club turned out to be pretty popular, but was closed down due to building code violations a year later. Never was reopened. Name of the place? Dawson Byrd studios.

Building was set for demolition, but the city never got around to it. The lot's been abandoned for almost forty years. Two weeks ago, an officer making his rounds was following up a report of suspicious activity. Seems someone was living there, but he didn't pursue. Was called away for a robbery, and never got back to it."

"Has anyone checked it out?"

Brass held his hands out, a smile on his face. "I figured you'd want first blood. I'm ready to go when you are."

* * *

_**January 2**__**nd**__** 2008**_

_He said nothing at first. How could he? And what exactly was he expected to say? _

_Grissom sat in his office, eyeing the paperwork that sat on his desk. He hadn't much time as of late to catch up with it all. Too many cases to deal with, and then everything with Greg…_

"_It's been over four months now," Ecklie continued when there was no response. "It's not like I'm springing this on you at the last moment. Mathews was hired originally for dayshift. I think he's shown enough compassion by altering his schedule to cover for your team long enough."_

"_You can have Mathews," Grissom replied without hesitation. _

_Darren Mathews had been hired shortly prior to Greg's disappearance. Ecklie had made the call to move him to nights to cover; a call that Mathews had never been happy with. The man had helped to shoulder some of the workload, but the truth was that the man caused more trouble than he was worth. Partially due to his own fault, but Grissom knew also that the others had never taken well to Mathews. Some had even seen him as a threat, as though the lab was trying to replace Greg. _

_So it would be in everyone's best interest if the man simply moved back to days. This would leave them a body short on the night shift. It was always difficult to find good people willing to work nights. The hours were horrendous, and hardly did it leave one with an ability to have any sort of social life. That was why it had been so easy to move Greg into the field. There was enough work to account for another member on the roster. Yet it worked both ways; the team could get along just fine without the extra man._

_It would mean for longer hours; more doubles to be pulled, less days off. It was a decision Grissom had been debating for a while. Ecklie had approached him almost a week ago, warning that days had less staff than nights. Grissom suspected the real reason for the sudden change was that Mathews had lodged yet another complaint. The man hated the hours, disliked the people he worked with, and constantly mentioned an 'unhealthy atmosphere'. Whatever the case was, Ecklie had finally come to the conclusion that Mathews needed to be moved back to days. _

_This left the option for Grissom to hire another CSI. There was a stack of applications he had started to go through. Shortly after they had all been forgotten, overwhelmed by everything else that was taking place. Grissom glanced to where they still sat, stacked on the corner of his desk, slowly being covered by more paperwork. _

_The more he thought about it, the less he began to like the idea. How would it turn out any different than it had with Mathews? With evidence of Greg still being alive, no one would take well to any replacement. Even with the case once again being closed, hopes were still high. He knew that any newbie that came into the fray of this emotionally-wrought chaos would be overwhelmed. No…it wouldn't work. The team needed closure first. As difficult as it was to think of it that way, Grissom knew nothing else would work._

"_I'm going to withdraw the request to find another investigator."_

"_Are you sure that's wise?" Ecklie shook his head. "You have an entire list of people who are itching to work here. Cut the department some slack, save on the overtime. Hire yourself another CSI."_

"_We'll manage," Grissom looked up at the other man. "I want my team to be able to work unhindered. Right now is not the time to be looking for newbies."_

"_And when you finally realize you can no longer manage?" _

_Grissom let out a sigh, glancing back to the pile of resumes. "I'll let you know when we get there." _

* * *

There were more people here than what she was used to. Sara had known they were coming; they had spoken with each other on the phone last night. That was something she had gotten used to. Greg's mother called daily, often of times more than once. Most of the conversations were held between them, a few of the times with Greg.

Sara had spent the earlier part of the day trying to figure out what to cook; she assumed they would stay long enough to want to eat, and she hoped it would be good for Greg, to try and get him to eat again. Hoped that by eating together he wouldn't feel as pressured, as stressed as he normally did. So far, he had been doing alright, but still she was waiting for the increase in his appetite that had yet to come.

If he was putting on weight it was difficult to tell. She would know for certain in a few days, when Greg went back in for another evaluation at the doctor's. That would happen the same day he went in to see a psychiatrist, something that was agreed quietly among all of them to be a step in the right direction. If they could get Greg to talk to someone about what had happened, then maybe he would be more open to sharing. Then maybe they could get some sort of lead, or direction to follow. While Sara hadn't been working the case, the others had done well to keep her up to date on everything they had learned. And even then it wasn't a whole lot.

His parents had arrived earlier than expected. Sara had still been going through the food, grateful for the distraction. Having been a vegetarian for so long, she wasn't so certain anymore about being able to handle meat. So the interruption had been welcomed, and they sat together out in the living room conversing before his parents had wanted to see the rest of the house. At least his mother did.

There really wasn't much to show; still Sara felt awkward. Greg's parents had slowly worked their way into her life over the past year, and she had come to respect them, and almost feared what their opinion of everything was. Lena hadn't said much, a few quiet comments as they came back out into the main room where Greg and his father were.

They sat together on the couch, Greg covered halfway with a blanket despite the heat of the day and the warmth in the apartment. It seemed as though he was always cold. Lena took the seat nearest to her son while Sara sat on the edge of the couch, almost uncomfortable in the silence between them.

"It's kind of small, don't you think?" Lena was the first to break the silence.

To that, Sara wasn't sure what to say. She knew her place was small, it was only an apartment after all. But everyone had agreed that here was the best place for Greg to stay…even Lena and Aaron had agreed.

"Mom, it's fine," Greg said quietly, saving Sara from the need to explain.

He had slowly perked up over the evening, ever since his parents had shown up. Sara couldn't help but feel slightly envious of the fact that he had. Jealous of the fact that Greg was more…involved when it concerned his parents, and distant when it was just the two of them. It was a surprising feeling, Sara trying desperately to convince herself that she should be happy for him, happy for the change. It was all she could do to bite her tongue from saying something she would regret.

"Honey, I'm just saying…for two people. And there's only one bed, where do you both sleep?"

"Greg…sleeps in the bed," Sara answered before Greg did. The last thing she wanted was for Lena to think she had Greg sleeping elsewhere; Sara wanted Lena to know that she had nothing but Greg's best intentions in mind. Was trying desperately to impress her.

"And where do you sleep, might I ask?"

"I," she faltered here, not sure what to say. She still had said nothing about it to Greg. Sara wasn't sure if she should bring it up either, not wanting for anyone to think she was being inconvenienced. Not wanting for anyone to suggest Greg stay elsewhere…but then, maybe that wasn't what Lena was worried about. The sudden thought hit Sara, leaving her almost angry.

"I'm not sleeping with your son if that's what you're trying to imply…"

"She sleeps on the couch," Greg cut her off. Sara turned to him, surprised almost. She thought she had done so well in keeping that part a secret.

"How did you?"

There was a smile there, a small one, and the smallest of sounds which she assumed to be the start of a laugh, but Greg was shaking his head.

"Sara, I might have been gone for a while, but I'm still observant."

She wasn't sure what to say. Of course Greg would have known, would have figured it out sooner or later. She just hadn't expected him to do so this soon.

"And I don't sleep as heavy as you do."

The comment surprised her. Sara shook her head, ready to argue. "I am not a heavy sleeper."

She wanted to point out how she had woken each time he had a bad dream, and how difficult it was to rouse him from them. Greg still slept little, but when he did sleep, it was very deep. But she refrained from doing so, certain that bringing up his nightmares here would cause the situation to become uncomfortable.

"You are when you're tired," he told her, meeting her gaze. "I know I keep you awake; you're always there when I wake up. Almost always; the times I wake up, and you're not, that's how I know you're sleeping."

"I…I must not hear you then. You know you can wake me up; I don't mind."

Sara had figured that the few hours of sleep she was getting each night was the same for Greg. That he had been able to sleep without any nightmares, but apparently that wasn't the case. And she felt scrutinized. As though his parents were judging her, making marks and keeping a tally of all the things she was doing wrong. What were they thinking now, having heard that she wasn't there for Greg when he needed someone?

"No," Greg shook his head, "You need your rest."

"I need my rest?" Sara looked at him in disbelief. "You're telling me this?"

"I'll be fine," Greg reassured her. He turned back to his mom as she grabbed his hand.

"Sara's right, you need more rest. Have you taken any of the pills your doctor gave you?"

Greg shook his head, cutting her off when his mom tried to protest. "It makes it worse."

"You should give them a try, they might help you sleep."

"I can't…can't get away. Too hard…" he ended up shaking his head, unable to finish. Sara had a good idea he was referring to his dreams however. Greg had gone quiet again, troubled by the conversation, or perhaps lost in memories again. Sara took the moment to excuse herself to the kitchen, needing the break.

It was almost too much. How was she supposed to do this? She was not a family person; she had no experience, and no clue what to do. Throw in everything that had happened to Greg, and it made it all the worse.

Sara tried to push the thoughts from her head, pulling a pan from the overhead cabinet and setting it on the counter and lining it with foil. Earlier she had made a salad, and cooked up some rice. Now all that was needed was the main course, the very thing she had been fretting over when his parents arrived. Going back to the fridge, she decided on chicken.

Making a face she set it down on a plate, turning to wash her hands. Part of her contemplated putting on gloves, wondering if it would seem too strange. Greg's parents probably wouldn't understand…

"You need a hand?"

Sara turned quickly, her breath catching. A moment later and she could breathe again, forcing a smile as the sudden fear left her. "Sorry, I didn't hear you come in."

Aaron returned her smile, apologizing as he came up next to her. "I thought you might need some help."

"I think I have this…you should be with Greg."

"Lena's with him," Aaron explained, leaning on the counter. "So we're having chicken?"

"Yeah," Sara nodded, pausing. "And no…I…I don't eat meat…and I really don't cook. I'd do takeout…but doctor's orders," she pointed to the meat on the counter. "Plain and simple, nutritious, as opposed to fast and easy."

"In other words, you don't know what you're doing?"

She laughed, surprised to find she was blushing. "I guess you could say that."

He rolled up his sleeves, moving to wash his hands. "I'll show you then. Might come in handy for future reference."

She smiled to that, stepping to one side to let him take over, setting the oven as he instructed. Sara welcomed the help; sooner or later she would have to do this on her own, but if she could avoid it for now, that was fine. She watched as he went to work, carefully washing the meat before placing it in the pan.

"You'll have to forgive Lena," he said suddenly. "She's passionate about many things. But nothing more than our son."

"I can't imagine how hard it must be…"

"I'm sure you can," he cut her off. "You're going through this, too."

Sara nodded. That was true, but she had been referring to the fact that Greg was their flesh and blood. There was nothing like the love parents had for the kids. Or so everyone was telling her. Sara had wondered from time to time if her own parents had been that way one time…

"Have you…heard any more? About who did this to him? Have you found anything out?"

"Mr. Sanders-"

"Aaron."

"Aaron," they had known each other too long to be using last names anymore. Sara wasn't sure why she had done that, maybe out of habit. "This isn't my case; even if it was, I wouldn't be a liberty to discuss it with you."

He nodded, seemingly disappointed. "I can understand. I just can't…it's hard to deal like this. You know that Lena wanted to take Greg away from here? To smuggle him out of Nevada?"

This surprised her, but he continued before she could say anything.

"I wouldn't let her. I don't know what's going to happen; I may have even made things worse. I just…"

"Trust me," Sara told him quietly, catching his attention. "LVPD is doing everything to help Greg. You and your wife just need to be there for him."

"I know they are," he nodded. "But we don't need to be there for him."

She looked at him, confused, wondering to why he would make such a statement. He just smiled, turning back to what he was doing.

"He has you."

**TBC**


	16. Grim Discoveries

**Yes, I'm still here! Things have been extremely busy, but I am still making an effort to get these done. If anyone is still reading, I'd really appreciate hearing from you! :)**

* * *

**Chapter 16: Grim Discoveries**

The club was well off the strip, and past the residential neighborhoods in Blue Diamond. Brass had taken the lead, both Warrick and Nick following close behind. They were not the only ones either. Brass had taken the time to put a call out for more guns, in help clearing the scene. If he was right about this, Bras didn't want to take any chances of someone getting hurt. Or disappearing like Greg had all those months ago.

He took a right at the next intersection, pushing the speed limit ever so slightly. While he could turn the works on, lights and sirens, and get there quicker, he restrained from doing so. Brass wanted to catch this bastard unaware, wanted to give him the least amount of warning as possible.

He took a breath, trying to stay calm. This might be nothing, something he had reminded himself of countless times. So many times they had gotten their hopes up for nothing. Yet there was something in the pit of his stomach that told him that this time it was different. Brass found himself gripping the steering wheel tighter as he slowed, pulling off to the side of the road. He cut the engine, climbing out as the others pulled in behind.

Nick and Warrick weren't long in joining him, the unasked question in their eyes. Brass held up his hands, explaining briefly.

"We're gonna move in from here. My boys and I will go in first, I don't want you two near there until I give the all clear, is that understood?"

He watched to see their reaction, once again stressing his point. "If our guy is in there, then I don't want him getting away. And we can't do our job if you're poking your noses in there."

He wanted to add on the fact that he didn't even have to tell him about the lead. Could have called them up after all was said and done, but Brass had felt as though they deserved to come this far. Yet he was serious about what he said. He didn't want them near the location.

"Fine," Nick was the first to agree, and Warrick followed with a nod. He vocalized the agreement when Brass didn't move at first.

"I'll give you a call; just sit tight," Brass was already climbing back into the car. He gave one last look back at the two CSI, grateful to see that they had not made a move to follow. They were smart, but Brass also knew they were stubborn. He hoped that at least this time, they would listen. Starting the car he pulled back out onto the road, taking the lead.

His men already knew what was to happen, and they drove the rest of the way in darkness, slowly edging up to the lot. Brass upholstered his weapon, taking the lead and motioning to his men where to go. They hardly needed any direction; it wasn't their first time doing this.

The door itself was draped in heavy locks, a large 'condemned' sign hanging on the front that had a thick layer of dirt clustered on top. It was slightly disturbing, suggesting that it hadn't been touched for years. But Brass knew that the front doors were not the only way into a building.

The locks were quickly cut, and on a silent count they moved in. Flashlights swarmed over the area as they moved, guns ready to fire if need to be. A few seconds and the front area was cleared, and they were moving down a hallway.

The second room proved more of a challenge; a larger, open area. A stage, and tables that had been overturned. Yet it was like the first; empty and desolate. No signs to even indicate that anyone had been there in recent times. Several minutes later, and Brass finally lowered his weapon with a sigh. They had come this far…for nothing. Pulling out his phone he hit the speed-dial, waiting for Nick to pick up.

"Yeah, building's clear. Very clear," he added on before Nick could get ahead of himself. "No one's been here. False alarm."

He could hear the disappointment in Nick's voice, could feel it himself. Why had he allowed his hopes to get so high?

"Captain?"

He turned, catching the man's eye. The officer stood near one wall, had lifted part of a molded curtain to one side. Underneath it was a door they had not seen before. Brass' eyes narrowed, told Nick to hold on, and hung up the phone. His weapon was out in his hands once again, moving towards the door.

It was opened easily, the room cleared quickly. Like the others, it had been empty. But unlike the others, this one held much, much more promise. Brass holstered his weapon, calling Nick back quickly.

"Yeah, I've found something you might like to see."

* * *

_**Feb 4 2008**_

_By now it was almost routine; the call would come in, the body of another dancer found. One almost didn't even have to ask if more evidence was found. Another bottle cap, another thumbprint, another set of strange engravings carved into the cheap metal. All in all, they totaled up to four bodies, a fifth if one was to include Amy Darrison, who had been killed the same day of Greg's disappearance. And yet, they were no closer to finding the killer than they were to finding Greg._

_Everywhere they went, nothing could be found. Everyone they talked to had the same response. That the victim was a wonderful person, that they didn't have any enemies. Three of the four victims had been dancers in their younger days; only one, their third victim, Cara Hendrickson, had still dabbled in the business as of late. That was the closest connection they were going to find as well._

_They lived in different parts of the city, worked in different trades, and had different circles of friends and contacts. There wasn't any way to connect the victims save for the evidence and the manner of death. And even that was hardly of any help._

_Sara rubbed her head, pushing her hair out of her eyes. She had been here since the start of her shift pouring through the files in vain hope of finding something, of finding anything that could be of help. In another two hours, it would be time to go home. Unless she would have to pull a double. By the sounds of it, that might really be the case. _

_It was something she would look forward to however. A change of pace, something to distract her. Greg's disappearance had consumed her, and for the most part had been her only focus. But as the weeks wore away into months, she could feel herself losing hope. _

_The end of this month would mark half a year since everything had first started. How long could she keep hoping, keep trying to pretend? What if the months turned into years? Then what was after that? With a sigh she dropped the file, rubbing her eyes. She didn't know the answer to that question, and she wasn't sure she wanted to._

"_Any luck?" _

"_None," Sara grumbled, looking at the other women. They didn't see eye to eye on most things, her and Catherine, but Sara was glad for her sudden company. "You?"_

"_I didn't have much time," the other admitted. "I was pulled away on another case."_

_That was the norm now; Ecklie didn't agree with pouring all their resources into the same case, no matter how fresh evidence was. After all, they had just found the most recent body no more than 12 hours ago and already they were being forced to move on. That's part of the reason she had shuffled away to an empty room, with hope that Ecklie wouldn't have given her much notice. _

"_I did find one thing though, apparently our vic filed a sexual harassment charge back when she was a dancer."_

"_Surprise," Sara shook her head. It wasn't really, given the line of work they performed in, more often than not the women would find themselves in uncomfortable situations. A claim of harassment was not out of the ordinary._

"_Not so much that she filed one," Catherine agreed, replying to her sarcastic tone, "But rather that she dropped the suit shortly after filing it."_

"_Did she feel she was going to lose?" _

"_Perhaps, or maybe she was given a better offer."_

* * *

Greg's parents hadn't stayed for long; a surprise as it was apparent that they had wanted to do so. But it was easy to see that Greg was exhausted, nodding off almost on the couch where he was as they talked after dinner. Sara had almost been certain for a time that it would be Greg and not her sleeping on the couch tonight.

It was Aaron who had suggested heading out early, with a promise of another visit in the next week. Lena seemed more reluctant to leave than her husband, but hadn't argued. Simply pulled her son into an embrace, and gave him a kiss on the forehead before getting up and gathering her things. No sooner than they had left, that Greg had gone off to bed without much suggestion.

Sara resisted the urge to check up on him. No doubt he was asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow, and she knew better than anyone that he needed the rest, desperately. Part of her hoped that he was tired enough that he would sleep through any nightmares, but she also knew that was foolish thinking. And after learning she had slept through some of them, Sara begin to question if Greg was actually getting more rest like she originally thought, or if he was just getting better at hiding the fact he was having them still.

Sara tried not to dwell on it. Instead, she kept herself busy. There were still dishes to do in the kitchen, though Lena had been insistent on helping to clean most of them earlier. Sara did have a dishwasher, but she surmised she had used it a total of maybe a dozen times since she had first come to Vegas. What little dishes she did use were washed by hand; the rest was normally take-out, stuff that was tossed or if she could help it, recycled.

Now it was full, or as full as it would ever have gotten. The steam caused her to wince as she opened the door, the load freshly done as she pulled out the top rack. It took maybe a matter of ten minutes, fifteen tops for her to put everything away. The rest of the dishes she did by hand, leaving them in the rack to dry. Another ten minutes there. All in all, it had been less than half an hour, and Sara found herself back on the couch, determined to get some sleep while she still could.

Ten minutes later she was back up. Greg wasn't as vocal this time as he had been in the nights past. Which meant the dreams were not as bad, or that he was getting used to them. Sara did what she always had done, taking a seat on the edge of the bed, and waiting for him to calm down. Greg knew that she was there, even though his back was towards her, and so she waited, giving him time to work things out on his own. Then she started reading.

She had taken to reading after running out of things to say. It was hard enough to talk about something when you were the only one speaking. It was even worse that she spent nearly all her time with Greg as well. There wasn't much of anything new to say; but Greg had already confessed just hearing her talk was calming. So she had done the next best thing; she had started reading to him during these episodes.

While she was an avid reader in her free times, most of the books she owned were focused around criminology, documentaries and biographies. Sara had been hesitant, though assuming that Greg, or at least the Greg she had once known might had found it fascinating, she had come to determine that reciting passages involving gruesome murders, and tales of kidnappings were probably not the best material for Greg's state of mind, and certainly not the best of bedtime stories given everything that had happened.

She had finally decided on 'The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy' after finding it on one of her shelves. Now she remembered that Greg had actually given it to her a few years back during Christmas, insisting that she would enjoy it. Until now, Sara had never read it through. It wasn't meant as a slight; in all honesty she no longer had as much free time as she did before coming to Vegas. Plus, despite Greg's enthusiasm then, Sara hadn't shared in it so much.

Science Fiction had never been a favorite genre of hers. However, a quarter of the way in, she had to admit that she was starting to enjoy the story. Enough that she was tempted to read ahead, but Sara always forced herself to stop whenever she suspected Greg had fallen back asleep. Most of the time he just listened, but he would correct on her names if she fumbled, or inform her that the coming scene was his 'favorite part'. He had a lot of those, it seemed.

Sara read the last few lines, marking the page before closing the book and setting it aside. Greg was sound asleep for now, and she knew that she should try and sleep while she could. She was used to little sleep, working the strange hours that she did, but never this little. Sara could feel easily how tired she was, and almost suspected she was starting to get sick. That was the last thing either of them needed.

But the thought of getting up and making her way back to the couch seemed like a waste of effort. She knew she would be back in here soon enough, or worse, she would sleep right through another one of his nightmares.

Sara rubbed her eyes briefly, stretching out on the bed so she was lying on her side, facing towards Greg. She would only stay for a little while, watch and see if he would be okay. She had done this enough times now that intuition told her that he would wake back up sooner, rather than later.

* * *

"Home sweet home," Warrick whistled as they came to a stop on top of the stairs. From here they could see most of the room before them. It was small, much smaller than the other areas of the club, which suggested it might have once been used as a storage space.

"Pulled my guys back as soon as we cleared it," Brass said, coming up behind them. "Tried to keep contamination as minimum as possible. We'll hang around in case our guy decides to return."

"Thanks," Warrick thanked the detective, turning to glance at Nick. He had been quiet since they had come in here, silently taking in the scene before him. Warrick had a good idea as to why…concerning the nature of things.

"You going to be alright?"

"Yeah," Nick answered with a nod, almost a little too quickly. Warrick watched him a moment longer, before taking the lead down the stairs, knowing the man would follow when worked up the nerve to do so.

Nick would be the first to argue, but Warrick suspected he was claustrophobic. Thanks mostly to the time he been buried alive in a glass coffin. Nick had a fairly good recovery, and it was only instances like this that you saw that part of past surface.

The room here was small, mostly underground, or at least might as well been. Dimly lit with two small overhead lights, and no windows surely left one to think they were underground. Warrick reached the bottom of the stairs, flashlight sweeping around, surveying the scene. They would need to photograph the area before they dived into anything, but Warrick always found it helpful to study the area without glancing at through a camera lens.

"You think this is it?"

Nick had come up alongside him, having made his way to the bottom of the stairs. Warrick could only shrug, setting his case on the ground.

"Hard to say. For all we know, some homeless person found a way in and set up house. Whatever the case, it's still trespassing, and that's what we'll start off with."

He began photographing in the first corner, just off to the side of the stairs. There wasn't anything in particular about it, for it was little more than standard ice cooler. An ugly blue, rimmed with a white lid. And while there was dirt adorning the sides, it was smeared and plastered in, suggesting it had been being used for a while. Furthermore, there was no dust, indicating recent use.

Warrick took a few more photos, moving next to the desk that sat right next to it. There were a number a drawers that would have to be gone through, but nothing visible from an outwardly glance.

"Warrick."

He glanced over to where Nick stood, and found the man staring at something on the ground underneath the stairs. Moving to his feet, he ventured over there, coming to a stop as he saw what had brought the Texan to call his name.

The mattress was worn and old, and from where the stood the nauseating aroma was already assaulting their noses. There was no confusing what the dark brown and offset red stains were, and the thought was gut wrenching. Shakily Warrick brought the camera up, taking the much needed photos.

"Do you think…" Nick wasn't able to finish, but Warrick knew what the man was trying to say.

"We don't have proof that he was here." They so needed for it to be, but seeing things as they were here, he was beginning to hope that his first suggestion of a homeless person was the more accurate solution.

"Not yet," Nick agreed, but Warrick could see the man was pointing to something else now.

It wasn't just the mattress that hid underneath the stairwell. A series of pipes ran along the wall, crossing over and running the length of the wall before disappearing once again. No doubt it was once a water main, yet it wasn't that what had caught their eye. It was handcuffs; two to be exact, that hung from the pipes.

One set was hooked around the pipe, the other end closing about the chain of the other, positioned just so that it was near one end of the mattress. The speculation of it being a homeless retreat was fading, and even the kinkiest of sex operations seemed far from this. No doubt this was it, that this was what they had been searching for, for so long. But they would need confirmation, more than photographic evidence. They would need DNA.

**TBC**


End file.
